How You Play the Game
by mojoco
Summary: Sequel to "The Game of Life." Third installment in "The Game" series.
1. Homecoming

****

How You Play the Game

*_Sequel to "The Game of Life." Third installment in "The Game" series._

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Distribution: Cover Me; any others, please ask.

____________________________________

Jack Vaughn shouldered his carry-on bag and moved to the front of the tiny plane, taking a deep breath as he moved to walk down the steps. It was Christmas vacation of his freshman year in college; he hadn't been home since school had started more than three months ago. Couldn't say he was particularly looking forward to going home now.

"Jackie!" a familiar voice squealed as he made his way through the airport. In spite of himself, he smiled as his little sister came hurtling towards him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Emily," he said with a grin. At fourteen, his sister was cute as a button, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and a wide, dimpled smile. She was tall and skinny, though the short skirt and midriff-baring t-shirt she wore showed off the beginnings of a figure. 

"It's so good to see you, Jack," she bubbled, giving him a warm hug. "It's been so boring around here since you've been gone. You look great!"

"So do you," he said once they'd parted, his grin widening. "Mom and Dad let you leave the house dressed like that?"

"Shut up," she giggled, running a hand back through her hair.

"You always did have the two of them wrapped around your finger," he teased as they made their way through the airport.

"Shut up, I do not," she protested, but the sly smile that crossed her face told Jack that she knew otherwise.

"So where are Mom and Dad?" Jack asked curiously. "Or have you taken the car joyriding again?"

"I only did that once, and you know it," she said, giving him a playful swat on the shoulder. "Mom's waiting in the car, she's in like thirty minute parking, so we have to hurry. Oh, don't you have luggage?"

"Just this," Jack said, patting his bag. "Dad didn't come?"

A solemn look crossed Emily's face, and she suddenly stopped walking. "He had to stay at the restaurant, the Hortons are having their Christmas party. You really need to call more often, Jack, Dad really misses you. I mean, Mom does, too, but Dad--"

"I know," Jack cut in. He hadn't really left on the best of terms with either of his parents. They had absolutely freaked out when he'd started talking about going away to college, though he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

"What is there for me on this island?" he'd exploded. "Do you expect me to work at your stupid little restaurant for the rest of my life?"

It had been a nasty thing to say, and he'd regretted it instantly. His parents loved living on the island; they'd miss him when he was gone, that was all. What was more, they seemed to really enjoy running their restaurant, seemed really content with their lives.

Except there is a look his mother gets, a pained, worried look that tells him she is not as content as she seems.

And there are memories he has from when he was young. Memories of his father in suits and his mother in chic dresses and expensive jewelry. Memories of a beautiful grandmother and something called the Organization.

He remembers that his parents were not as happy then, that there was a weariness about them that seems to have been lifted. Usually, he doesn't ask them about that time, because even thinking about it seems to make them so sad.

But sometimes, all he wants is to know. To know what the Organization is.

To know what has happened in his parents lives that is so bad they can't even talk about it.


	2. His Chance

****

Chapter Two: His Chance

"Come on," Sydney Vaughn encouraged as she pulled her car up in front of the restaurant. "You dad's so anxious to see you."

Jack smiled; he had been touched, actually, by the warm reception he had gotten from his mother. She didn't even seem to care that they hadn't parted on the best of terms and that he rarely returned her calls. She was just glad to have her little boy back.

"Oh," Jack said with surprise as Emily and his mother started toward the front of the restaurant. "Dad's not back in the kitchen?"

"Not tonight, sweetie," his mother said, ruffling his hair affectionately. She had done that since he was a kid; she still did it, even though he was taller than her now and practically an adult. "He's hosting."

"Schmoozing," Emily translated.

"Something like that," Sydney laughed. "Come on, he's going to need our help."

They entered the restaurant to the sound of music and raucous laughter. Jack's eyes popped. He had never seen the place so busy. He caught sight of his father in the corner, deep in conversation with a waiter, and he felt an unexpected surge of happiness. His father had never been anything but great to him, and in spite of their recent disagreements, Jack had missed him a lot.

"Jack," Michael Vaughn said when he caught sight of his son, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Welcome home."

Jack felt a flood of relief as his dad reached out to shake his hand, feeling like maybe he really was home.

"Doesn't he look great, darling?" Sydney enthused, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her son's shirt.

"He sure does," Michael agreed, slipping an arm around his wife's waist. Sydney responded by resting her head on his shoulder. "So, I guess school must be keeping you pretty busy, huh, Jack? We hardly hear from you."

"Michael--" Sydney admonished.

"No, it's okay," Jack cut in sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"It's certainly understandable," Sydney said smoothly. "Michael, darling, where do you need my help?"

Michael offered her an apologetic look. "Would you mind too terribly if I asked you to help Sam out behind the bar?"

"Of course not," Sydney said, kissing him warmly.

Jack watched his parents, feeling the same rush of comfort he always felt when he saw them being affectionate. Only now, watching them also made him feel a little regretful. He'd left behind an amazing girlfriend when he'd left for school, completely broken her heart. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to think he'd loved her like his parents loved each other, but, well-- "How long did you guys know each other before you got married?" he blurted, before his mother had a chance to head for the bar.

Sydney and Michael exchanged a glance. Of course. Jack was asking about a time before the island, before the Organization. Of course this required some deliberation. "A little over a year, wasn't it, baby?" Sydney asked, trailing her fingers along the front of her husband's dress shirt.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "A year and a few months."

"How long did you know each other before you knew you were in love?" He'd known Delia since he was eight years old, and he still wasn't sure.

Michael smiled in response. "I loved your mother from the first minute I saw her," he said, pulling his wife closer.

"Oh, you did not, you liar," Sydney said, letting out a peal of laughter. "You were still going out with-- what was her name? Alice?"

"She never held a candle to you, sweetheart," Michael promised. Jack rolled his eyes as his father pulled Sydney in for another kiss before she finally headed across the room to slide behind the bar.

"I'm in love," Emily announced.

Jack looked at her in surprise. He'd almost forgotten she was still there.

"Emily--" Michael began, green eyes flaring in a mixture of impatience and irritation.

"I think I'll go see if Jason needs help with the dishes," Emily cut in sweetly, standing on her toes to kiss her father's cheek.

"Oh, no, you don't, young lady," Michael admonished. "Why don't you get to work bussing tables?"

"Daddy--" Emily protested.

"I'm serious, Emily," Michael said, giving her a look that Jack knew meant business. He had never known his father to direct that look at Emily, but then, he'd never known Emily to wear skimpy clothes and talk about being in love, either.

"Fine," Emily pouted, stomping off.

"What was that all about?" Jack wondered aloud.

"I don't know what to do with her lately," Michael rolled his eyes. "I'd like to lock her in her room till she leaves for college."

The comment hit Jack hard. What, he'd had to fight to leave the stupid island, now it was just expected that Emily would? "You think she'll want to go?"

Michael and Jack locked eyes for a moment. It was Michael who spoke first. "Hey, Jack, all that stuff before you left-- you know your mother and I were just worried about you, right?"

__

But why? Jack wanted to scream. Millions of kids left home for college every year. Why was it such a big deal that he'd wanted to do the same?

A nagging thought told him that it had something to do with the Organization. Something to do with things that had started even before he was born.

"Dad--" he began.

"Mr. Vaughn, we have a crisis." Jack rolled his eyes as Henry, a man who had waited tables at the restaurant for years, hurried up to them. "Oh, hi, Jack."

"Hi," Jack said impatiently. Looked like now wasn't the best time to ask his father all of the questions that had been burning inside of him for so long.

The only question was whether he'd ever get his chance.


	3. How Badly He Wanted To

****

Chapter Three: How Badly He Wanted To

"Jackie!"

Jack rolled his eyes at the sound of his sister's voice on the other side of his bedroom door. He hated when she called him that. She knew he hated when she called him that. "Come in," he groaned. "And my name's not Jackie."

"Hey," she chirped, bouncing into the room. That was the thing with Emily-- she chirped and bounced. He'd never known anyone so fucking cheerful. "So," she said, perching at the foot of his bed. He was at his desk, idly drawing in a sketch pad. "Wasn't tonight so fun? I love it when we have parties at the restaurant."

"It was all right." How someone who had spent the better part of her night clearing tables could be in such a great mood was beyond him. "What was that crap you said about being in love?"

"Oh." A delighted smile danced across Emily's face. "I am."

"With some guy named Jason?" Jack asked, remembering her offer to help with the dishes.

"Who?" Emily asked blankly. "Oh, the dishwasher. He's cute, but no. I love Keith."

"Who?" Jack echoed.

"Oh, you know him," Emily said, drawing her pajama-clad legs up under her. "Keith Jones."

Jack's eyes popped. "Keith _Jones_? Emily, he's _seventeen_!"

"I know," Emily said nonchalantly.

Jack frowned. He hadn't cared for Keith much in high school, and he couldn't say that his opinion of him was getting any better right then. "He's only after one thing."

"No, he's not." Emily shook her head confidently. "We've been going out for two months, and all we've done is--"

"Stop," Jack winced. "What does Dad think about you going out with someone that age?"

Emily's pretty face worked its way into a scowl. "He hates it," she said glumly. "Mom was this close to getting him to chill out about it, but after he caught us on the couch--"

"_Please_ stop." Jack had half a mind to go kick that smug Keith Jones's ass, but he wouldn't. Not yet, anyway.

"You're just as bad as Dad," Emily complained, running a hand back through her hair. "I'm not a little kid."

"Whatever." That was debatable, as far as Jack was concerned. The girl had played with Barbies till she was thirteen.

"Anyway," Emily rolled her eyes. "I just thought I'd let you know that Delia mentioned you the other day."

Jack drew in a deep breath. Delia? Really? "What did she say?"

Emily smirked. "That you haven't been calling her, either."

Jack groaned, leaning back in his desk chair. "I didn't know I was required to keep in touch with my ex-girlfriend."

Another eye roll from Emily. "Give me a break, Jack. You broke up because you went away to college, not because you were cheating on her."

Jack drew back as if he had been slapped. "What do you know about that?"

"What do I know about what?"

And in that horrible moment, Jack realized that Emily hadn't known a damned thing, and that he had just revealed more than he'd meant to.

"You were _cheating_ on Delia?"

"Damn it, Emily, lower your voice," Jack winced. "_Yes_." Damn Kristy Sawyer and her C-cup breasts.

"_Why_?" Emily looked absolutely heartbroken. "Delia is the sweetest girl, Jack, and she loves you."

"I know she is, Emily, okay? I fucked up."

"Damn right you did," Emily reprimanded. "Does she know?"

Jack closed his eyes, then opened them again. "No. And you'd better not tell her, Emily."

Emily rose from the bed and headed for the door, shaking her head as she went. "You're a bastard."

"Hey, Emily, wait."

Emily paused on her way out the door, regarding him impatiently.

"You were only four years old when we moved here," Jack blurted out. Why couldn't he get this out of his head? "What do you remember about before?"

Emily frowned. "Not much," she said, biting her lip thoughtfully. "We lived in a big, fancy house. Grandma used to come visit. What ever happened to her, anyway?"

"I don't know," Jack said truthfully.

Emily's frown deepened, and she leaned against the doorjamb. "That's weird, huh?"

"Yeah," Jack nodded. "I think back then Mom and Dad were doing things that they don't want u to know about."

Emily's eyes widened. "Like what?"

"I don't know."

It was only as he spoke the words that he knew how badly he wanted to.


	4. Daddy's Little Girl

****

Chapter Four: Daddy's Little Girl

"Isn't it nice to have our whole family together?" Sydney purred, curling up next to Michael in bed.

"It is," he agreed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest. "Jack looks great, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does," Michael said, running a hand over her hair. "I think college agrees with him."

"God, I hope so," she sighed. "I worry about him so much, Michael."

"I know you do, baby." He pressed his lips to the top of her head, then began working his way down-- her forehead, then her nose, then he finally pressed his lips to hers.

"I'm serious, Michael," Sydney insisted, though she let a giggle escape her lips. "He just hasn't been the same since we moved here."

"I know," Michael said, brushing the hair back from her face with a tender hand. "But sweetie, you worried about him before, too."

"I know," Sydney sighed. "I can't help feeling like--" she stopped short, cocking her head to one side at the sound of the creaking of the front door. "What--"

Before she could finish her sentence, Michael was out of bed and through their bedroom door. She followed hastily.

"Stop right there, Emily Adele Vaughn."

Sydney winced at the sight of their daughter, halfway across the front lawn.

Emily turned around slowly, the expression on her face mirroring the one on Sydney's. "Would you believe I was just getting some air?"

__

If looks could kill..., Sydney though, taking in the glare Michael was giving their daughter. "If you were still wearing your pajamas, then maybe."

At that, the expression on Emily's face turned indignant, self-righteous. "It's not fair that you won't let me see Keith."

"What does it matter what I _let_ you do?" Sydney had rarely seen Michael so angry. "It's pretty damned clear that you're going to do whatever you want, anyway."

"Michael--" Sydney began, at the same precise moment Emily said, "Daddy--"

Michael was having none of it. "Get inside, Emily," he ordered. "You're grounded."

"But Daddy--"

"_I said get inside_!"

Emily stormed back up to the house, brown eyes full of tears as she pushed past her parents.

"Go to bed," Michael demanded. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

Emily muttered something unintelligible before storming up the stairs and slamming the door to her room behind her.

"I don't know what's gotten into her," Michael fumed, once he and Sydney were back in their room.

"She thinks she's in love, Michael," Sydney said softly.

"She's _fourteen_!" Michael exploded. He paced back and forth across the room while Sydney perched on the edge of their bed.

"Come on, Michael," Sydney said gently. "Are you angry at her for disobeying you? Or for growing up?"

"Oh, don't give me that, Sydney!" he shouted. "I think I have a right to be angry about my fourteen-year-old daughter trying to sneak out of the house."

"Of course you do, Michael." Sydney hoped she didn't sound too terribly patronizing. "But forbidding her to see Keith-- don't you think that was a little extreme?"

"Sydney, I caught them--"

"Caught them what?" Sydney challenged. "Kissing?"

"Sydney, his hands were--"

"Come on, Michael," Sydney cut in. "You caught Jack doing the same thing when he wasn't much older, and you just hid a smile and said you thought it was time for his girlfriend to go home."

"This is different, Sydney!"

"Why?" Sydney demanded. "Because she's a girl?"

Michael sighed, running a hand back through his graying brown hair. "Don't try to make me out to be a horrible person for thinking that makes it different. It just does, Sydney."

Sydney smiled, rising form the bed to wrap her arms around her husband's neck. "I know, darling. She's your little girl, and it's sweet of you to be so concerned for her." Actually, it was absolutely adorable, but she didn't think he would appreciate her saying so.

Michael sighed, defeated. "Fourteen just seems so young."

"Come on, baby," Sydney coaxed, planting a feather light kiss on his lips. "Don't tell me you were an angel when you were that age."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Weren't you?"

Sydney laughed softly, offering him another light kiss. "Come to bed, Michael."

"No, Sydney, I--"'

Sydney pressed her lips to his again, and he stopped talking.


	5. Unanswered Questions

****

Chapter Five: Unanswered Questions

"_What's the CIA_?"

"_Well, Jack, it's a United States government agency, and an enemy of the Organization._"

Jack sat up in bed with a start. Where the hell had that memory come from? And what the hell was the Organization, if it was an _enemy_ of a United States government agency? Had his parents been working for the Mafia, or what?

He rolled over and looked at the clock, groaning when he saw the time. Six-fucking-fifteen a.m. He slept better back at school. He punched his pillow, knowing that getting back to sleep was completely hopeless, and padded down to the kitchen.

To his surprise, his parents were already up, sipping coffee in their bathrobes.

"What are you guys doing up?"

"Mrs. Corr is having Christmas Eve brunch at the restaurant," his father explained.

"Wow," Jack said appreciatively. "You guys are getting a lot of business, huh? The party last night, this today."

"We're doing okay for this time of year," Michael agreed. "Want some coffee?"

"No, thanks," Jack said, sliding into the chair across from his father.

"You're up early, sweetie," his mother noted, leaning over to ruffle his hair.

"Couldn't sleep," he said off-handedly. Was it possible that his sweet mother had been involved with something shady? And his father, who seemed like such a good guy-- could he have been some sort of underworld crime lord?

"I'll probably be gone before Emily gets up," Michael told Sydney then, sounding apologetic.

"Oh, honey, you know she'll sleep till noon," Sydney said, concern knitting her brow. "Let me come help out."

"I just hate to leave her alone," Michael said, then turned to Jack as if seeing him for the first time. "Jack, will you be around this morning? Can you make sure your sister doesn't leave the house?"

"I guess," Jack said warily. "Why? What's going on?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "You want to explain it to him, Syd?" he questioned. "I think I'll go jump in the shower."

"Sure thing, honey."

Michael kissed his wife before heading out of the room. Jack turned to his mother, a question in his eyes.

"Emily tried to sneak out of the house last night," Sydney said lightly, moving to empty the last of her coffee into the sink. "Not as big of a deal as your father's making it."

"Did he ground her?" Jack asked with interest. Emily had hardly ever gotten in trouble when they were younger.

"He did," Sydney confirmed, going about the business of rinsing out the coffee pot and throwing out the used grounds and filter. "He and I talked about it. We decided her punishment should last for a week, and when it's over, she can see Keith again."

"_What?_" Jack exclaimed. "Mom! He's seventeen!"

"Yes, I know," Sydney said dryly. "I think Emily can take care of herself, Jack."

"I guess," Jack said warily. "But still."

Sydney sighed, leaning against the counter. "I see you picked up the overprotective gene from your father," she observed, running a hand back through her hair. "You know, he always worried about me so much, even when--" She broke off suddenly, and a conversation Jack had had with her many years ago came rushing back to him:

"_What's the CIA_?"

"_It's a United States government agency, sweetie_."

"_Did you and Dad used to work for them_?"

"_Yes, honey_."

"_Why don't you anymore_?"

"_We work for your grandma now, sweetie_."

"When you worked for the CIA?" Jack blurted out suddenly. "Or when you worked for the Organization?"

Sydney froze, her eyes wide, but Jack thought it was to her credit that she managed to answer the question. "Both, actually."

"Why don't we see our grandmother anymore?" It wasn't the best question Jack could have asked, but he had so many, he supposed it was as good of a place to start as any.

"To be honest, Jack," Sydney said, joining him at the table. "I have no idea where your grandmother even is."

"Why not?" Jack demanded. "We saw her almost every day when we were kids."

Sydney bit her lower lip, staring up at the ceiling as if it would provide her with the answers she needed. "To tell you the truth, Jack," she said. "Your grandmother was-- is, I suppose-- a liar, and a manipulator, and it was a huge mistake for me to allow you to be around her as long as I did."

Jack raised his eyebrows. Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. "So why did you work for her?"

"It was a mistake," Sydney said flatly, rising from her seat. "It was a bad situation, and we got out of it, and that's all that matters, all right, Jack?"

She left the room before he had a chance to answer. Had he been given the opportunity, his response would have been a loud, resounding _no_. How could it not have mattered when it had affected everything that had happened in all of their lives since? 


	6. The Christmas Card

****

Chapter Six: The Christmas Card

She was older now, but then, so were they. The difference was, they had let themselves get soft during the past decade. She hadn't. She was ready. Watching.

Watching the Vaughns' gorgeous son Jack, pleased with the distance that seemed to exist between him and his parents. Their attitude toward one another since he'd returned home for Christmas break had been more congenial than she would have liked, but no matter. He was asking questions of Sydney and Michael, was curious about their pasts. Well, she'd be happy to tell him anything he wanted to know. If he played his cards right.

And precious Emily. Daddy's good little girl gone bad. Beautiful. Brilliant. Almost certain to be sleeping with that handsome older boyfriend of hers by the year's end. It was sweet, the way her daddy seemed determined to preserve his little princess's innocence, but he really shouldn't have bothered. Emily would find a way to do whatever she wanted; she was, after all, her mother's child. Her mother, who had wheedled her way into the Organization and taken the whole thing apart as if it were nothing. Her accomplishments would have been quite admirable. If they hadn't cost so many others so much.

Nevertheless, there were probably many who would have loved to have Sydney Vaughn as an ally, especially if the alternative was having her as a nemesis. She was strong. Smart. Capable. Her husband wasn't bad, either, though it could be argued that his greatest asset was his uncommonly gorgeous face.

Well, Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn had had their chance, and they had blown it. There was one woman they would never have as an ally again, and like Sydney, she was not someone you wanted as an enemy.

She wouldn't kill them. Well, she would if it came down to that, but it wasn't her intention. Death would be too kind for them. No, what they deserved was to suffer, and to watch, as she had watched for the past decade. Watch as everything they had built up crumbled around them. Watch as their beautiful children grew into people they despised.

Her plan was put into action with a simple little note. A simple sentence on a Christmas card, sent through the mail like so many other messages were each day. _I can tell you what you want to know._

And, of course, it included a signature. One simple word that meant one thing to many, but held a completely different connotation for Jack Vaughn.

__

Grandma.

___________________

Emily Vaughn made her appearance in the kitchen earlier than her mother had predicted she would, but late enough that her parents had already left for the restaurant. She stepped into the kitchen tentatively, as if afraid one of them was lurking around, waiting to surprise her.

"They're gone, Emily," Jack told her, rolling his eyes at her skittish demeanor.

"Thank God," Emily said, collapsing into a kitchen chair dramatically. "Have you seen them? Did they say anything about me being grounded?"

"They sure did," Jack said with a smirk.

"Damn it," Emily said. To Jack's surprise, angry tears actually sprung to her brown eyes. "Dad's so unfair. Mom was pretty cool about everything for awhile, but now she's just going along with whatever he says."

Jack sighed. Should he tell her what he knew? Put an end to her pouting? "I think Mom still has some influence," he admitted. "You're going to be grounded for a week, but then you can see Keith again."

"_Really_?" Emily cried.

"Really," Jack confirmed.

"Oh, Jack!" Jack winced as his sister jumped up and threw her arms around him. "Oh, wait, though," she said, loosening her grip on him. "A week? Do you think that means I'll be free for New Year's Eve, or that New Year's Eve will be the last day I'm grounded?"

"I have no idea, Emily," Jack rolled his eyes. He watched as she counted the days off on her fingers. 

"I should be free New Year's Eve," she determined. "I f they count today, the 30th will be the seventh day. They'll count today, right? Why wouldn't they count today?"

"They'll probably count today," Jack said, drumming his fingers on the table. Talking to her could be so annoying sometimes.

"Oh, this is so great!" Emily squealed. She was the only person Jack knew who actually _squealed_. "I have to go call Keith!"

"Wait, Emily," Jack protested. "I don't know if you're supposed to be using the phone, since you're grounded."

"You're such a goody-goody," Emily rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious, Emily," Jack frowned. "Don't call him till you talk to Mom and Dad, and act surprised when they tell you that you can see him again. I don't know if I was supposed to tell you that part."

"Fine," Emily sighed, settling back into her own chair. She frowned, eyeing Jack thoughtfully.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Didn't Dad catch you making out with Katie Miller that one time?"

Jack winced at the memory. "Yeah. That was so embarrassing."

"What did he do?" Emily asked, leaning forward with interest.

"He said it was time for her to go home, and then--" Ooh. This memory only got worse. "He came to my room that night and gave me this talk about being nice to her, and respectful of her feelings, and I think he actually used the word _protection_."

"Oh, no," Emily giggled.

Jack smirked. "Yeah. And the most pathetic thing about it was that I'd already been sleeping with her for like a month."

Emily smiled. "Daddy's totally out of touch with reality," she said, but Jack caught the fondness in her voice.

"Totally," Jack agreed. "He's a good guy, though."

"Yeah."

Both sat in silence for a long moment. Jack, of course, was thinking of the conversation he'd had with his mother that morning. If he found out more about his father, would he still be able to think of him as such a good guy?

"I'll bet the mail's here," Emily announced, springing up from the table. Jack nodded absent-mindedly.

"Letter for you, Jackie," she announced, tossing a red envelope onto the table in front of him.

"Me?" Jack asked in surprise. "I don't even really live here." But sure enough, the envelope was addressed to him. There was no return address, but the postmark was local. _Delia_, he thought suddenly, irrationally. He could see her sending a Christmas card as a peace offering. That was just something she would do. He tore into the envelope eagerly, flipping open the card to find--

Well, not a letter from Delia, that was for sure.

"Emily," he breathed. "You're never going to believe this."


	7. Christmas Eve

****

Chapter Seven: Christmas Eve 

"How's it going?" Michael asked, joining his wife in the restaurant's kitchen.

"I sent Jason home," Sydney responded, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "Did you lock the front door?"

Michael nodded. "The wait staff's gone home."

"Good," Sydney said, leaning against the counter with a sigh. "Ready to get out of here?"

Michael shrugged. "Want to open a bottle of wine?"

Sydney raised her eyebrows in surprise. "It's like two in the afternoon, Michael."

"It's Christmas Eve," he said, moving toward her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "I thought we could celebrate a little. Alone."

"Mmm," she said, welcoming his kiss. "You just don't want to go home and have it out with Emily."

"Guilty,' he admitted.

She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around her neck. "Okay," she agreed. "We can stick around here for awhile."

Once Michael had retrieved the wine and glasses, they settled themselves at a table in the restaurant, she on his lap. She gazed into his beautiful green eyes, wondering for the millionth time how she'd gotten so lucky. "Are you happy, Michael?" she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead.

"Of course, Sydney," he said, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

She lovingly brushed his hair back from his forehead, knowing precisely what was bothering him. "You don't have to be so worried about Emily, baby."

"I know," he sighed. "I worried about you for so long, sweetie, out on missions--"

"You didn't have to do that, either," she interrupted, her hands continuing to work their way through his hair. He was so beautiful, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, and in all honesty, she found his protective attitude toward the women in his life absolutely adorable.

"I know," he said again. "But I did, anyway."

"I love you, Michael," she said seriously, gently kissing the tip of his nose. "So much."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," he responded, and she kissed him, a deep, passionate kiss that shook her to her very core. She hoped it had the same effect on him; by the look on his face when they parted, it did.

"Let's go home, Michael," she said with a smile.

"Not just yet," he said huskily, nibbling at her earlobe. 

She started to protest. But then his lips moved down to her neck, and she knew they weren't going anywhere for awhile.

__________________

Irina Derevko sat in a car across from the restaurant, staring blithely down at her red-polished nails. All of the wait staff had left something like half an hour ago; she wondered when Sydney and Michael would make their appearance. Not that she had any intention of approaching them; no, she was content to wait, for now. She was simply curious. Curious to see if, when Sydney and Michael returned home, Jack would tell them about Grandma's little note. Curious to see how he would behave around his parents if he didn't.

When another fifteen minutes passed, though, it became clear that Michael and Sydney were going to take their time heading home. Probably they were relaxing with a bottle of wine. Probably they'd make love on the couch in the restaurant's cramped little office or on one of the tables in the dining room. Irina found it admirable that her daughter had been madly in love with the same man for more than twenty years. She would have even been happy for Sydney. If she hadn't spent the last decade rebuilding everything the little bitch had destroyed. 

"Oh, Sydney," she murmured, gazing across the road to the quiet little restaurant. "We were on the way to building one of the most powerful empires in the world, and it all would have been yours. Yours and your gorgeous husband's."

She liked to tell herself that Jack Bristow must have really put the pressure on for Sydney to accept the deal he'd offered. That she really hadn't destroyed all she'd helped build just so she could spend the next decade drinking margaritas on the beach with her little boy toy. To be honest, Irina wasn't completely sure what Sydney's motivation had been, and she certainly wasn't going to give her the chance to explain herself.

"You never should have made an enemy of me, Sydney," she whispered. And she pulled the car out onto the road towards her next destination. 


	8. The Christmas Gift

****

Chapter Eight: The Christmas Gift

Michael and Sydney always allowed their children to open one gift on Christmas Eve, so after dinner that evening, the Vaughn family gathered around the Christmas tree.

"You want to play Santa, Jack?" Sydney asked with a smile. Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Every year, she asked that, and every year, he painted on a smile and handed out presents. This year would be no exception, of course. His grandmother's Christmas card was just going to make it a little harder than usual to keep his mind on the festivities.

Still, he moved toward the Christmas tree with false cheerfulness, gazing at the mound of presents nestled beneath. "What do you think, Em?" he asked in what he hoped was a normal tone of voice. "You want a big one, or you want a little one?"

"Oh, I don't have to go first," Emily said, voice sickeningly sweet. Jack hid a smile. If he was afraid he was acting a little weird, Emily was acting like an utter freak. She was not only concealing her knowledge of her grandmother's note, but trying to regain her status as Daddy's little girl-- and she was a bad actress.

"Give your mother the flat one, Jack," his father encouraged.

"Sure, okay," Jack said with a shrug, handing this mother a slim silver-wrapped package.

"Oh, make sure everyone has one before I open it," Sydney encouraged. Jack selected boxes that looked like they contained clothing for his sister and father, and a slim, small box for himself-- looked like his parents had gotten him the watch he'd asked for.

"Open it, Syd," Michael encouraged.

Jack watched as his mother tore open the wrapping paper, gasping at the contents of the package. Looked like plane tickets. "Jamaica? Michael--"

"I know we said we'd go on our twenty-fifth, Syd, but it'll be twenty this year, and--"

"Oh, Michael, it's a wonderful idea," Jack's mother said, leaning over to kiss her husband. "Do you think that restaurant's still there?"

"That's right," Michael said, eyes twinkling. "I haven't taken you dancing since St. Bart's, have I?"

"Oh, Michael." She leaned in for another kiss, and Jack smiled, shaking his head, as he opened his own gift.

It was a good thing his parents were preoccupied with each other when he tore open the wrapping. Because what he found on the inside made him gasp out loud. Inside the box was a watch wrapped in tissue paper, as expected. But written on the tissue paper was a message.

__

Meet me Christmas Day in the lobby of the White Sands hotel at five p.m. I'll be holding a gift wrapped in red.

He caught Emily's eye, cocking his head almost imperceptibly toward the kitchen.

She jumped up like a shot. "How about we make hot chocolate?" she blurted out.

Jack rolled his eyes, and his parents looked at her as if she'd grown another head. _Smooth, Emily._ She might have thought she was all grown up, but she was still a dork. "I'll help you," he said, grabbing his watch box and heading for the kitchen.

"What is it, Jack?" Emily asked once they were out of the room, eyes wild.

And, for the second time that day, Jack heard himself saying, "Emily, you're not going to believe this."


	9. Christmas Day

****

Chapter Nine: Christmas Day

On Christmas morning the Vaughn family opened their gifts from each other and from Santa, who still came even though Jack and Emily were too old to believe in him. It would have been a pretty typical Christmas—Emily gave their father a bottle of the same cologne she gave him every Christmas, and Jack gave their mother a necklace she probably hated but wouldn't return. As expected, Emily acted like a total freak all day. Jack knew he probably shouldn't have told her about their grandmother's latest note, but if possible, he wanted her to come with him to the meeting at White Sands, and anyway, he'd thought she'd be able to come up with an excuse to get them out of the house by five. She hadn't. By four o'clock Christmas day he still had no idea what he was going to tell his parents.

As it turned out, he shouldn't have worried.

"We're invited over to the Kincaid's for dessert," Jack's mother announced at promptly five after four. By then, the gift wrappings had been thrown away, the dinner dishes had been cleaned up, and the four of them were lounging around the living room, watching television and admiring their gifts.

"I forgot about that," Michael said with a frown, looking up from the puzzle Emily had received as a gift. "I guess we should go, right? They come into the restaurant almost every week."

"We really should," Sydney agreed. "Jack and Emily, do you want to come?"

And the excuse popped into Jack's head as readily as if he'd spent hours dreaming it up. "I might actually run over to White Sands."

Emily stared at him, mouth agape.

"Colby Sawyer's mom rented a bunch of rooms there for relatives that are visiting." That much was true—she'd done that every year for as long as Jack could remember. "He invited a few of us over to use the pool and hang out and stuff. I was thinking I might just stop over and say hi."

Sydney exchanged a glance with Michael, and Jack held his breath. Oh, God, she knew he was lying, she—

"Well, that sounds fine," Sydney interrupted his thoughts. "Emily, you'll come with us, then?"

"I don't wanna," Emily said, sounding four instead of fourteen.

"I don't want you here by yourself," Sydney objected.

"Come on," Emily whined. "Don't you trust me?"

Sydney and Michael exchanged a glance, and Jack hid a smile. "She could come with me," he suggested.

Michael frowned. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Daddy--"

Jack held up a hand to silence Emily. "I won't be long, Dad," he assured him. "And I'll keep an eye on her."

Emily scowled but didn't say anything.

"I think it'll be fine, Michael," Sydney said, placing a hand on her husband's arm. "I'm sure they'll make it home before we will." She punctuated her sentence with a look at Jack that plainly said, _You **will **make it home before we will_.

"Fine," Michael said with a sigh. "What time are you heading out?"

"I'm supposed to stop by around five," Jack said quickly.

Michael nodded. "Don't be gone more than a couple of hours."

"That was smooth," Emily commented later, as they began their trek over to the hotel. "Telling them we were going to the hotel, just for a different reason."

"Tell only as many lies as necessary," Jack said with a smirk. "I'll bet it's written in some CIA handbook somewhere."

"I'll bet it's written in the script for some crappy spy movie somewhere, too," Emily snickered. 

They walked in silence for a moment before Emily spoke again. "So, Mom and Dad did that?" she asked, kicking at the sand as they walked. "They were, like, spies?"

"Apparently," Jack said with a shrug.

Emily smirked. "Then you'd think they'd have caught me sneaking out of the house a hell of a long time before they did."


	10. The Meeting

****

Chapter Ten: The Meeting

She was holding the gift wrapped in red as expected, and she suggested they go somewhere more private before they'd even exchanged hellos. Jack and Emily had no choice but to agree-- she was turning and walking away before they had a chance to protest.

She didn't turn to speak to them until they were inside her suite on the tenth floor. "Jack," she said, a soft smile playing about her lips. For a flickering of a moment, Jack wondered how old she was. Early seventies? He'd always thought of seventy as old, but this woman…sure, she had lines on her face, but she just seemed so-- strong. Powerful.

"Hello…Grandma," Jack said haltingly. When he'd gotten her message, there'd been no doubt in his mind that he'd wanted to see her, but now…something just seemed…_off_. And he thought, for the first time, that maybe there was a reason his and Emily's parents had kept them from their grandmother for so many years.

"You look so handsome." Irina continued to smile at him, but luckily, she didn't try to hug him or anything. Jack didn't know if he'd have been able to handle that.

"And Emily." Irina turned her attention to her granddaughter then, shooting her a warm smile. Emily offered her a brilliant one in return. "You were so young when you moved away." _Moved away_. As if they'd simply left because Jack's father had gotten a new job or something simple like that. Probably Jack's mother would have claimed they'd come to the island for a change of scenery, or because she and her husband had always wanted to open a restaurant. Somehow Jack knew it had been more than that.

"Do you remember me?" Irina asked Emily.

"Yes." Jack wondered how much Emily did remember. Of course she remembered she'd had a grandma, but how much did she actually know about the woman? How much did _Jack_ even know?

Pretty much just that she was his grandmother. And that his mother had called her a liar and a manipulator. He supposed in some ways, the same could be said about his own mother, but still…

"You look so much like your mom," Irina told Emily, smiling fondly.

"Oh," Emily said, in that charming, self-deprecating way she had that made everyone fall instantly in love with her. Jack knew that he wasn't like that. People had to know him before they liked him. "Everyone says that. Jack looks like our dad-- but I guess you knew that."

"Yes," Irina said, shooting a flickering of a smile in Jack's direction before turning back to Emily. Somehow, the attention Irina was paying Jack's sister didn't strike Jack as quite right, either. Sure, she'd always been nice to Emily. But Jack had been the special one in her eyes. It didn't seem that she thought that way anymore. "I remember your father always called you _princess_, Emily. Does he still?" Jack remembered that, too. _Hey, princess. How's daddy's little girl_? It seemed that that had happened less, once they'd moved to the island. They'd all started spending more time together. They'd gotten to know each other well enough that they'd known better than to idealize each other.

"Oh." Emily smiled another self-deprecating smile. "Not so much lately."

"Well, that's okay," Irina said kindly. "Fathers and daughters grow apart, it's only natural. Your mother was never that close with her own father, but still he would have done anything for her." She frowned, so briefly that Emily probably didn't notice. Jack did. "He _did_ do anything for her."

"What the hell does that mean?" Jack asked flatly. Something about this whole situation just seemed so wrong. All he wanted was to get the hell out of there.

If Irina was surprised by his bluntness, she didn't show it. "He had something to do with you ending up on this island, Jack," Irina said simply. "Don't tell me you think you just ended up here by chance."

Jack knew damned good and well that they hadn't. He also knew that, while his parents might have hidden things from him, at least they wanted what was best for him. He didn't know if the same was true of his grandmother. "Look, I was looking forward to seeing you," he said. "But I think this meeting was a mistake. We have to go.

"Oh." Irina looked a little hurt, but not terribly surprised. "Okay, then. I guess this is goodbye."

"I guess it is," Jack said tersely.

Irina caught Emily's arm before she could walk out the door. "It was wonderful to see you again, sweetheart."

"You, too, Grandma." Oh, God. Jack didn't like this one bit. Emily was so impressionable and rebellious. Yes, Jack knew he'd made the right decision to get the two of them out of there.

But he also knew, deep down, that Emily and his grandmother were women who got whatever the hell they wanted. And if they wanted to see each other again, they would.


	11. The Prophecy

****

Chapter Eleven: The Prophecy

"You wanted out of there in a hurry," Emily commented as they made their way through the hotel. Jack hated the tone of her voice. Wounded. As if he had just torn her away from her heart's desire.

"It felt wrong being there," Jack said irritably. "I can't believe you didn't think so."

"It felt weird, maybe," Emily said with a shrug. "But we haven't seen her in ten years, I think that's perfectly normal."

"Did you ever stop to think _why_ we haven't seen her in ten years?" Jack demanded.

Emily rolled her eyes. "So she and Mom don't get along, big deal," she said. "That doesn't make her a bad person."

Jack wanted to scream. She _sounded_ like she was being rational, but the truth was, she just didn't get it. "Promise me you won't see her again."

"Why?" Emily asked with a laugh.

Jack grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "I'm serious, Emily."

"Fine," Emily rolled her eyes. "You're serious. Would you let go of my arm, please?"

Reluctantly, Jack did as she asked.

"So do you think Colby's mom really did rent some rooms here?" Emily asked, trailing her hand along the wall.

"Yeah," Jack said with a shrug. "She usually does. Why?"

"We should go say hello," Emily suggested. "So we can give Mom and Dad some convincing details. And so it won't be like we lied."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Good idea, Emily."

Emily smirked. "You're not the only one who's seen a bunch of crappy spy movies."

_____________________

Irina sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a sip from the scotch she had poured herself after the children had left. Well. That hadn't gone exactly as she'd planned, but she couldn't say she had been displeased with the little meeting. So Jack didn't trust her as he had as a child. There was always Emily.

Emily. Oh, how Irina had underestimated her all those years ago. The girl had been so small, had had so many problems. Irina had been so sure she'd grow up to be weak. Worthless. She should have known better. After all, none of what had happened to any of them had been coincidence, chance. It had all been written years ago.

__

The woman here depicted will possess unseen marks, signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works. Bind them with fury. A burning anger, unless prevented. At vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.

The prophecy didn't call the woman by name, but it was clear to Irina who it described.

Emily.


	12. Safe and Sound

****

Chapter Twelve: Safe and Sound

Michael stood on the Kincaid's balcony, sipping a glass of red wine as he stared out into the ocean. It was an absolutely beautiful evening. Never in a million years would he have expected to spend Christmas on the beach. Back in his days at the Organization, he'd wondered if he would spend every Christmas for the rest of his life in the house Irina had provided for them. Sometimes he'd even wondered if he'd someday be spending Christmas behind bars. He had to say, he didn't mind the view from this balcony.

He felt a pair of arms circle around his waist, and he turned to smile at his wife.

"You okay, baby?" she asked, planting a light kiss on his neck.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he said, turning back to the ocean. She kept her arms firmly locked around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.

"What are you thinking about, honey?"

"I don't know," he said, resting his wine glass on the ledge in front of him. "You. The kids. Your mother."

He felt her arms leave his waist; when he turned to face her, she was looking up at him, her pretty face twisted into a mask of horror and disgust. "Why would you be thinking about my mother?"

He shrugged. "I know she spent the entire ten years we were with her Organization manipulating us," he explained, searching for the right words. "But when Emily was born-- she was actually…kind of great, Syd. I was a wreck, worrying about Emily, about you. She helped me see that Jack needed me, that he would need me if--" He let his voice trail off, biting his lower lip at the unpleasant thought.

"If you lost me," Sydney finished softly.

Michael lowered his eyes. "Yes."

Sydney shuddered. "That must have been awful." She moved to his side, gazing out into the ocean. "When I thought I might lose you back in Taipei all those years ago, I--" she shook her head, eyes filling with tears. "And you and I weren't even, you know, together then. We didn't have Jack, or Emily. But I loved you, Michael." She turned toward him, a sad smile spreading across her lips. "I might not have known it yet, but I loved you."

"I loved you, too, Syd," he said quietly. "So much. I don't know when, exactly, I fell for you, but--" he let his voice trail off, shaking his head.

She moved toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. When he looked into her eyes, he saw not the warm, loving eyes of the woman he'd been married to for almost two decades. He saw the look of a young girl, unsure of how to tell her crush how she felt about him. "I don't think I ever told you how much it meant to me," she said shyly. "Your always being there for me, when we were at the CIA."

He pulled her to him, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Syd," he whispered. "So much."

"I love you, Michael," she responded.

They stood there in silence for a moment, his arms surrounding her, before she spoke again. "It's weird that you mentioned my mother," she murmured against his chest. "Because I spoke to my father today."

This didn't surprise Michael. Sydney and her father were far from close-- he never came to visit, had never been formally introduced to their children. But he called a couple of times a year to check up on them-- though Michael suspected the CIA had them under some sort of surveillance-- and Sydney and Michael were required to check in with him every time they wanted to leave the island.

"Is he doing okay?" Michael knew that Jack was pretty much retired from the CIA, excluding anything to do with them. Michael often wondered how the man spent his days.

"It's hard to say," Sydney admitted. "He doesn't sound good, doesn't sound-- healthy. I even suggested that maybe I should visit him, but of course he hated the idea."

"Of course." If Jack wasn't as strong as he had once been, he would have hated for Sydney to see him like that.

"I told him you and I were going to Jamaica," Sydney said. "In February, right?"

"Yeah."

Sydney looked up at him, brow knitted in concern. "You don't sound so excited."

Michael sighed, pulling away from her and running a hand back through his graying hair. "I'm just worried about leaving Emily."

"Michael--"

"I know we won't leave her alone, that she'll probably stay with friends, or whatever," Michael said hastily. "And I'm not just worried about Keith. Just thinking about your mother made me realize-- she's still out there, you know?"

Sydney looked away. "I know," she said with a frown. "I try to forget."

Michael hated the sadness on her face. Hated that he'd been the one to put it thee. "Hey," he said, lifting her chin. "I'm sorry I said anything. We don't have to worry about it right now."

Sydney bit her lip, then finally looked up at him with a smile. "You're right," she said. "Right now, Jack and Emily are probably home safe and sound."


	13. Freedom?

****

Chapter Thirteen: Freedom?

New Year's Eve marked Emily Vaughn's first day of freedom in more than a week. She didn't know when she woke up that morning how short-lived her freedom would be.

Despite the careless way she'd dismissed Jack's warnings not to speak to their grandmother again, the truth was, she really had no desire to do so. She'd been without a grandmother most of her life. She'd been curious to meet her, yes, but it wasn't like she had felt there was something missing from her life before. Jack was the one who had always been discontent with their life on the island, Jack who wanted to know so badly what had happened before. Such things didn't matter to Emily.

So, a week passed without so much as another note from Irina, and on New Year's Eve, Emily found herself standing at the entrance to the ballroom at the White Sands Hotel, tugging at the hem of the white skirt she wore with a matching halter top. Keith's parents were throwing a party there, so of course she'd been invited. She only wished that Keith had come over to pick her up, so she wouldn't have had to show up alone.

"Your daddy let you leave the house dressed like that?"

Emily barely spared a glance in the direction the question had come from. The truth was, her daddy hadn't seen her on her way out the door, though her brother had been none too pleased.

"Not that you don't look pretty," the man continued. "In fact, you look astonishingly like your mother."

Emily looked sharply at the man. He must have only been about ten years younger than her father, and quite frankly, he was creeping her out. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

The man rewarded her with a smirk. "Ah, I see you've inherited your mother's attitude, as well. So superior." She hated the way he was looking at her. Disgusted, and like…like he knew her. Like he could read her thoughts. "Please don't repeat this, but your grandmother has that attitude, as well."

Emily regarded him disdainfully, trying not to let on how uneasy he was making her. "I don't know who you think I'd repeat it to," she said coolly. "I don't even speak to my grandmother."

"You spoke to her on Christmas day," the man said, moving close to her. "And soon you'll be speaking to her on a regular basis. Trust me."

He was behind her now; he wasn't touching, but he was so close, it felt as if he were. "I'd like you to come with me, Emily," he whispered. "I'm carrying a gun, but I'd much prefer not to have to use it. I'm going to ask you to follow me."

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. "Who are you?" She'd never been so afraid, she knew she shouldn't ask, but yet…she had to.

"I probably shouldn't tell you that," he said, his voice soft. "But I will, anyway. You can call me Mr. Sark."


	14. Some Kind of Miracle

****

Some Kind of Miracle

Emily Vaughn followed the man who called himself Mr. Sark up to the same hotel room she and Jack had visited not even a week before. She entered the dark room to find her grandmother seated in the shadows; when the door closed behind Emily and Sark a lamp clicked on, and she rose from the darkness like some sort of mystical creature, a cool smile playing about her lips.

"Emily," she said, looking the girl up and down as if appraising her value. "Don't you look lovely."

"Do you think so?" Sark asked, cocking his head to one side. "I was surprised her daddy let her leave the house dressed like that."

Irina's smile widened. "I have a strong suspicion that our little Emily didn't let her daddy see her before she left the house, isn't that right, Emily?"

Emily felt a rush of irritation run through her, much as she knew she should be afraid. "You know, if you wanted to talk to me, you could have just asked," she said, trying for a cheap imitation of her grandmother's cool tone. "You didn't have to have someone threaten to pull a gun on me."

Irina raised her eyebrows disapprovingly, her brown eyes asking Sark a silent question.

"I'm quite sorry, Irina," he said smoothly. "But the girl is a bit willful."

The smile returned to Irina's face. "Of course she is," she said, nodding as if she had expected as much. "Emily, darling, why don't we sit down? Relax a bit."

"I-- I think I'd rather stand," Emily said tentatively. The easier to run away, if necessary.

"As you wish," Irina said, eyes gleaming. Emily shuddered, hating the way the woman seemed to anticipate her every move. "You've grown quite tall," she noted. "You were so tiny when you were born, did you know that? Born so early. We weren't sure you'd make it."

"Yes," Emily responded hoarsely as Irina settled herself into a high-backed chair. "I knew that."

Irina nodded in response. Emily glanced over at Sark, who stood at Irina's side with his hands clasped in front of him. He was officially creeping her out.

"Your parents were so grateful when they were finally allowed to take you home from the hospital," Irina continued. "They acted as if it were some sort of miracle. But you had so many problems, even when you were a little older. Those horrible asthma attacks. Do you still have those?"

"Uh-- not that often," Emily said, reaching unconsciously for her purse, which she knew held her inhaler. "But I have this weird feeling you already know that."

"Smart girl," Irina commented. "But then, I always knew you would be. Your grades are outstanding, aren't they?"

Emily nodded mutely, feeling even as she did so that her grandmother already knew the answer to the question. "Math and science," she whispered, not quite knowing why. "Those are my favorite subjects. I want to be a doctor."

Irina nodded. "Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine one, dear," she said. "But I'm also convinced that you're destined for other things."

Emily had no idea what she meant. But she had the sinking feeling it wouldn't be long before she found out. 


	15. Room 247

****

Chapter Fifteen: Room 247

Jack Vaughn hadn't really planned on going out that New Year's Eve. To be honest, he didn't really even like New Year's Eve. It seemed like one of those occasions where you were, like, required to have fun, or you were the world's biggest loser. He'd spent enough New Year's Eves in front of the TV watching Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve to detest the holiday.

But after something like an hour in front of the TV on that particular New Year's, he found himself getting a little bored. Emily had told him he should think about stopping by the party at the hotel-- Keith's parents had allowed him to invite some friends, and Emily had assured him that he qualified. Plus, she had encouraged, Delia would probably be there...

Besides, the way Emily had been dressed, she could probably use some looking after.

Jack scrawled a note for his parents, who were hosting yet another party at the restaurant-- they had insisted that Jack and Emily _not_ come help, that they go out and have some fun-- and quickly went about the business of showering and dressing in a pair of dark blue jeans and a black button-down shirt, shrugging at his reflection in the mirror. He'd been told more than a few times that he was a good-looking guy, and he believed it, he supposed. Still, he'd never paid a great deal of attention to the way he looked.

The party was busier than he'd expected; he was a tall guy, but still he had to stand on tiptoe to look around to see who was there.

"Vaughn, my man," said a familiar voice, as a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Oh...Colby, hey," Jack said, glad to see a familiar face. "I didn't think there would be so many people here."

"Hey, Andrew Lincoln's having a private party in one of the rooms upstairs," Colby said, eyes gleaming. Jack realized that Colby had already had a few drinks, and was probably a little stoned, as well. "Room 247, you should check it out."

"Nah, I think I'll just hang out down here for awhile," Jack said with a shrug. "I--" he was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around to find Keith Jones, who currently did _not_ have Emily attached to him like an appendage, which Jack supposed was a good thing, except--

"Where's Emily?" Jack and Keith asked at once.

"What?" Jack asked, frowning. "I thought she was coming to hang out with you."

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Jack said, looking more than a little irritated.

"Check out room 247, man," Colby said, swaying a little. "Andrew Lincoln's got his eye on her, I wouldn't be surprised if he--"

"You shut up," Keith cut in, eyes darkening.

"Seriously," Jack muttered. He'd have rather seen his sister with Keith than with Andrew Lincoln.

"Hey, Jack, you should really go up there," Colby responded, unfazed. "Delia's up there, and she's-- she's--"

The tail end of his sentence landed in a puddle of vomit on the ballroom floor, along with what Jack guessed to be Colby's dinner and the better part of a bottle of tequila.

"Dude, let's get out of here," Keith said, clamping a hand down on Jack's shoulder.

"Yeah," Jack muttered.

"Room 247?"

"Yeah." 


	16. The Tenth Floor

****

Chapter Sixteen: The Tenth Floor

Little did Jack and Keith know that as they headed up to the second floor, the girl they wished to find stood in a suite on the tenth, asking a question she wasn't sure she should ask.

"What-- um--" she asked, biting her lower lip nervously. "What other things am I destined for?"

Her grandmother offered a mysterious smile in response. "Did you enjoy growing up here, Emily?"

Emily shrugged, bewildered. "Sure, I guess."

"I'll bet you did," Irina responded, her smile growing confident. "I'll bet you felt like a princess, living in that gorgeous little cottage on the beach."

Emily only shrugged again. How the hell was she supposed to answer that?"

"Your parents treated you like a princess, you know, at least when you were younger," Irina continued. "They loved Jack, too, but you were always so pleasant, so well-behaved, and you required such care."

Emily fidgeted nervously, but when her voice came out, it was strong and clear. "You still haven't told me what I'm destined for."

Irina's face suddenly turned very serious. "Emily, darling," she said, her voice cool. "What do you know about the Organization?"

_______________

Jack and Keith heard room 247 well before they saw the numbers on the door. The raucous music spilling from the room practically made the walls vibrate.

"I wonder how many complaints the manager's gotten so far," Keith muttered.

Jack shrugged. "Everyone's probably out partying."

Keith rapped on the door; he had to practically pound before he got anyone's attention. Andrew Lincoln answered the door wearing nothing but a Santa hat and a pair of pajama pants with candy canes on them.

"Where the hell's Emily?" Keith demanded, before Jack could.

"Emily Vaughn?" Andrew asked, looking from Keith to Jack and back again. "I don't fucking know. Hey, Ingalls!" he called into the room. "Has Emily Vaughn stopped by?"

"Emily Vaughn?" Jack watched as Chad Ingalls appeared next to Andrew. He was fully dressed, at least. "Nah, man. I saw her downstairs talking to some old guy."

"Old guy?" Jack repeated.

"Yeah, man," Chad confirmed, raking a hand back through his hair. "He was like forty, or something."

"Hot, though," a female voice piped up.

Jack's eyes widened as Delia appeared, clutching a half-empty bottle of champagne, the strap of her dress sliding down her arm. "Jack," she gasped.

"Delia, uh--" Jack began, then his eyes widened as a realization hit him. "Oh my God."

"What?" Keith asked with a frown.

"I think I know where Emily is," he said, grabbing Keith's arm. "Come on, we've gotta go."

"What? Where?"

"Tenth floor." 


	17. Family History

****

Chapter Seventeen: Family History

"The Organization?" Emily repeated, staring up at her grandmother. "I-- I know that my parents used to work for it, work for you, and that before that they worked for the CIA. I don't know what the Organization is or what it does."

"And, by virtue, you don't know what your parents role in it was, or what they did," Irina said with a thin-lipped smile. "You must be curious about the past that led them, led you to where you are today."

Emily shrugged. She knew that Jack was curious, for sure. Emily was much more willing to take things at face value. She loved the island, loved the house they lived in. The disagreements she'd had with her father as of late hadn't even diminished her adoration of him, or of her mother. She wasn't eager to hear about a past they'd found too painful or abhorrent to talk about for so many years.

Regardless, her grandmother seemed determined to tell her, determined for her to know. "Your mother," she said. "Was a double agent, working with the CIA to bring down a rogue spy operation called SD-6."

Emily responded with silence. She didn't want to know this, didn't need to know...

"Your father was her case officer. SD-6 would give her a mission, and she'd go to him for her counter mission from the CIA. Needless to say, he fell in love with her."

Emily couldn't help but smile. She'd never been treated to hearing about how her parents had met. "We worked together," her mother would simply say any time she was asked. How surprised the friends she'd made on the island would be to learn that they'd "worked together" at the CIA. Wild.

"They'd known each other less than a year when a friend of your mother's was kidnapped, and she made plans to go to Taipei to save him," Irina continued. She still sat in the high-backed chair, Sark next to her, his gaze moving from Irina back to Emily in a way that made Emily quite uncomfortable. "Your father offered his help, offered to go with her. It was a decision that would change both of their lives forever."

Emily looked up with interest.

"Your father nearly drowned on that mission," Irina continued. "And his job wasn't waiting for him when he returned to the CIA. His superiors had felt, for some time, that he was too emotionally attached to your mother, and his actions in Taipei were the last straw."

"That's awful," Emily couldn't help but mutter. "Couldn't they have just reassigned him, or something?"

"You'd have thought so," Irina responded. "And for awhile, I'm sure that the CIA wished they'd done just that. It's wonderful to have Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn working for you, and quite dangerous to have them working against you."

Emily regarded her curiously.

"Your mother came to me then," Irina continued. "She wanted me to hire her and Michael, and for my organization to help them take down SD-6."

"You did, right?" Damned if Emily wasn't hooked on this story now, though she felt as if she were listening to the plot of some movie or TV show and not the life story of her parents. "They took down SD-6, right?"

Irina let out a short burst of mirthless laughter. "Oh, definitely not, Emily. SD-6 and its counterparts in the Alliance of Twelve are still extremely powerful players in the intelligence world."

This disappointed Emily. She would have thought that her parents had succeeded in their goal, that they wouldn't have rested until they had. 

"But I did hire them, though I'll admit I was skeptical of their motives," Irina said. "I suspected they might be planning to sabotage me, take down my Organization from the inside. I'll be honest with you, Emily. My Organization's motives were and are no more honorable than those of SD-6's."

"And those motives are--?" Emily prompted, her stomach churning in anticipation of the answer.

Irina smiled coldly. "The usual things, dear. Power. Wealth. World domination."

Emily fought the urge to look around for the movie cameras that were surely hidden around the room. People in real life did _not_ just toss around terms like "world domination."

"Anyway," Irina said. "I questioned your parents' motives, but I hired them, regardless. I believed I could turn them around, bring them over to my side, and for awhile, I thought I might actually succeed."

Emily didn't respond. She was still struggling to accept that the story she was being told was actually real.

"They were married within a few months of coming to work for me," Irina continued. "Something like two years later, Jack was born, and four years after that, you were. All the while, I was giving your parents more knowledge, more power in my Organization. Foolishly," she said, bitterness coloring her voice.

"They did take you down from the inside," Emily realized, feeling an odd rush of pride.

Irina smiled coolly in response. "They sold me out for a house on the beach and a restaurant."

Emily wasn't sure how she should feel about that. She had a feeling that she was getting less than the whole story. And that her grandmother was crazy as a frickin' loon.

"But the CIA was unable to take me into custody, nor were they able to capture Mr. Sark, here. An employee named Brooke Banning cut a deal similar to the ones your parents took." Another cool smile. She was seriously giving Emily the creeps. "Remind me to tell you about Brooke someday, dear. She's the only woman besides your mother that your father has spared a second glance in the last two decades. More clever than any of us counted on, it seems. Or perhaps just more lucky."

Emily wasn't sure what _spared a second glance_ meant, but she was determined not to be distracted by such a detail. "So-- they didn't put you into custody. What did you do? Rebuild your Organization?"

"Mmm. Something like that," Irina said mysteriously. "I joined with a new partner, one you've heard a little about in the last few minutes, an old enemy of your mother's. No one knows about it, of course. As far as the CIA is concerned, I've been in hiding for the last decade."

"You're working with SD-6," Emily realized.

Irina smiled. "An old friend of mine there was quite interested in the intel I had to offer, and in my desire to exact revenge on the deviant Ms. Sydney Bristow."

"An old friend," Emily repeated.

"Yes," Irina said with a nod. She snapped her fingers, and Emily gasped as a figure emerged from a darkened corner of the room, the figure of a very old man.

"Emily Vaughn, I'd like to introduce you to Arvin Sloane." 


	18. Sit Down For This

****

Chapter Eighteen: Sit Down For This

"Emily," Arvin Sloane said with a smile, dropping a kiss on Irina's cheek as he settled himself in a chair. "You look so much like your mother. Of course, I can't say that I ever had the pleasure of meeting your father."

"Oh, he's a wonderful man, Arvin," Irina assured him. "Charming. Kind. Handsome," she added, smiling in a way that made Emily's stomach turn. "I grew quite fond of him during the time he spent at the Organization."

"Until he betrayed you," Arvin noted.

Irina shook her head dismissively. "I'm quite sure that was mostly Sydney's doing, though Michael will also bear the weight of my punishment. For that, I'm regretful."

Arvin might have responded, or Emily might have, but an urgent knocking on the door interrupted them.

Irina's eyes flew to Emily, though she didn't look terribly alarmed. "Who might be missing you down at that party, Emily?"

"Uh-- my boyfriend, Keith," Emily said uneasily. "And Jack said he might be stopping by."

"Jack," Irina said, eyes lighting up. "Do show them in, Sark."

Sark hesitated to obey her command. "With all due respect, Irina, couldn't the girl's boyfriend potentially cause problems?"

"We'll deal with that later," Irina said. "Please show him in."

This time, Sark cooperated. Emily wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or alarmed when both her brother and Keith entered the room.

"What's going on here, Em?" Keith asked warily.

"Just a friendly meeting between a girl and her grandmother," Irina said, her voice as smooth as the silk blouse she wore. "I don't believe we've met. Irina Derevko," she said, extending a hand to Keith.

"Keith Jones." Keith shook her hand, still wearing the same wary expression. "Emily, I thought you hadn't seen your grandmother in years."

"She hasn't," Jack said, turning a glare on Irina. "I don't believe I'm satisfied with the answer you gave Keith, Grandmother, so I'll ask you again. What the hell is going on here?"

Irina eyed the boy for a moment, her face a mixture of amusement and cool contempt. She waited several seconds to speak again, and when she did, her words sounded almost ominous:

"Maybe you'd better sit down for this, Jack."


	19. Business To Take Care Of

****

Business To Take Care Of

Irina told Jack roughly the same story she'd just told Emily, and while she enjoyed Jack's reaction-- while Emily's face had showed quiet, if incredulous, acceptance, Jack's eyes flashed anger and disgust-- she had to admit, her heart wasn't really into the telling of the story. Seeing her grandchildren again had caused a flood of memories she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to relive.

She thought of a day, nearly twenty years ago, when she'd led Sydney and Michael, newlyweds just home from their honeymoon, through the house they would live in for the next decade.

__

"What's the matter, Sydney?" Irina asked, noting the hesitation on her daughter's face. No doubt she was still wondering what her mother was up to. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"It's-- nothing, Mother," Sydney responded, the hesitation clear in her voice, as well. "It just seems a little-- big. Four bedrooms?"

"Well," Irina said, smiling from Sydney to Michael and back again. "Maybe you'll fill those rooms one day, hmm?"

Sydney grinned almost in spite of herself, turning to face Michael. "What do you think, baby?" she purred, touching his cheek tenderly. "Do you want three children?"

"Mmm," he responded, pulling her close to him. "Two, at least. A boy and a girl."

They'd started filling those rooms not two years later, and Irina had visited them at the hospital, entering the room to find Sydney and Michael both nestled into her bed, cooing over the precious infant in front of them.

__

"Well, now," Irina said gently. "Is that my beautiful grandson?"

"Isn't he perfect, Mom?" Sydney asked warmly.

"He's gorgeous," Irina agreed. "Can I hold him?"

"Of course," Sydney said.

Irina took the infant in her arms, staring down at his sweet little face. "He's an absolute angel," she declared. "Have you thought of a name?"

Sydney and Michael shared a quick, troubled glance. "We--" Sydney said, the old hesitation returning to her voice. "We were thinking about Jack."

Irina looked down at the boy, thinking of the first Jack, the Jack that had been hers, if only for a short time. He was a man who was strong and fiercely unemotional, but could be quite warm and caring when it suited him. Though Irina had been forced to break his heart, to completely ruin him, she truly had been fond of him. "It's perfect," she decided.

Michael and Sydney both looked up at her, smiles flashing across both of their faces, though not before Irina noticed the quick, though clearly visible, gleam of hatred in Michael's eyes. Sometimes she catches the same gleam in Sydney's. Not today. Today Sydney absolutely beams at her. Everything is perfect in her universe, and she has accepted that her mother is part of that universe.

Michael had smiled at her like that, too, though not till later. Not till after Emily was born.

__

"Michael," she said with a smile as he opened the door to the Vaughn family home. After weeks of wondering if little Emily would even make it, the doctors had finally allowed her parents to take her home. The look on Michael's face told Irina that the man couldn't have been happier.

"Hello, Irina," he responded, surprising her by kissing her cheek.

"It must be wonderful to have your little family home together," Irina observed.

Michael beamed. "It's amazing. Irina, I just wanted to thank you again for all of your help with Jack these last few weeks, and-- um-- with me," he said, looking more than a little embarrassed. "I would have been useless if you hadn't gotten me to snap out of it."

"Well, you certainly had cause to be worried," Irina noted, feeling something very close to adoration for the man who loved her daughter so much that the thought of losing her had nearly destroyed him. "But I'm glad you were able to stay strong for Jack."

"Yeah, well," Michael said, face flushing. "Thank you again for your help."

"It was my pleasure, darling," Irina said, giving his arm a reassuring pat. "Now. Why don't you let me say hello to my new grandchild?"

"Of course," Michael said, leading her into the kitchen.

"Grammy!" Jack cried, flinging his little four-year-old body at his grandmother.

"Good morning, darling," Irina said with a smile.

"Hi, Mom," Sydney said, an easy smile crossing her own face. Like Michael, she looked nearly deliriously happy. Nestled in her arms was the loveliest little girl Irina had ever seen, with the possible exception of Sydney.

"Hi, sweetheart," Irina responded, crossing the room to press a kiss to the top of her daughter's head. "That's a beautiful little girl you have there."

"Isn't she, though?" Sydney replied, beaming. "Would you like to hold her?"

"Of course," Irina said, allowing Sydney to deposit the infant into her arms as she rose from her chair.

"Emily just had her breakfast," Sydney announced. "What do you want for yours, Jack?"

"I can have anything?" he asked, green eyes gleaming.

"Anything," Sydney responded with a grin.

"Chocolate chip pancakes," Jack said, a challenge in his eyes. Irina knew it wasn't a breakfast his mother prepared for him often.

"Chocolate chip pancakes it is," Sydney said. "Michael? Mom? Do you want chocolate chip pancakes, too?"

After breakfast, Michael whipped out a camera and played the part of the doting papa to the T, showering his new little girl with attention, all the while taking care to make sure his son felt included and his wife felt adored. As for Irina, she thought she had never seen such a caring little family, and she felt privileged to have even a little part in it. She hadn't seen such love and devotion since-- well, since she'd been with Jack Bristow.

Irina shook her head then as if to clear the thoughts from it. This was not the time for memories of happier occasions.

She had business to take care of.


	20. Fire and Ice

****

Chapter 20: Fire and Ice

Jack reeled about the room angrily when his grandmother had finished her story, even going so far as to punch the wall. "They didn't even tell us," he fumed.

"Come on, Jack," Emily said, her voice soft. "What does it matter whether they told us or not?"

"What does it _matter_?" Jack exploded. "Come on, Emily! They made enemies of some of the most dangerous people in the world! Don't you think they should have told us so we would know to be careful? To prepare ourselves?" He fixed a glare on his grandmother, his green eyes darkening, shooting fire. "Don't you think they would have told us so we would have known to stay away from _her_?"

"Your sister's right, Jack," Irina said. If Jack's eyes were shooting fire, then hers were pure ice. "It wouldn't have mattered." She flashed him a wintry smile. "I would have found a way to get to you no matter how prepared you were."

Jack frowned sullenly. "So, what now?" he asked. "You expect us to go with you now? To work for you? Well, you can--"

"Not you," Irina cut in. 

Jack stared at her, not fully comprehending. "What?"

"You won't be coming with me," Irina said, her voice cool, even. "Just Emily. You'll be free to go in a few minutes."

"Free to--" Jack stared at her unbelievingly. "But why would you let me go?" he asked, hoping that by doing so he wasn't digging his own grave. "I'll just tell my parents that you have her. They brought down your organization once, I'm sure they can find you again."

"Yes."

As soon as the single word was out of her mouth, it dawned on Jack. That was what she wanted. Nothing would happen that she didn't want to happen. She was that powerful. "Emily's just bait," he realized, feeling sick to his stomach. "It's my parents that you want."

"Well, your mother, actually, though I suppose your father will have to be captured along with her, as, of course, will you," Irina said with a sigh, staring at her nails as if the entire conversation was boring her. "But Emily is much more than just bait, Jack. She's destined for magnificent things, important things."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Irina flashed him another of her cold smiles. "That's not really your concern. Now," she said, rising from her seat. "I really must be going now, it's getting quite late. Sark, please show the boy out."

"What about him?" Sark asked, cocking his head toward Keith, who stood off to the side, mouth open in disbelief.

Irina stared at him for a moment. "Let him go," she said decisively. "I'm quite certain that we've frightened him enough that he won't tell a soul what he's seen here today, isn't that right, Keith?"

Keith nodded mutely, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the room and never come back.

"You won't try to stop us when we go," Irina told Jack, cocking her head toward Sark. Wordlessly, he stepped to Emily's side, taking the girl by her arm. "We're armed, and you're not, and even if you were, I'm quite sure that your parents didn't have the foresight to teach you to use a weapon."

The strange thing was, Jack had the odd feeling that he _did_ know how to use one, and that his grandmother knew that. But how did he know? When had he learned? All he knew then, at that moment, was that he felt utterly and completely helpless. His grandmother was taking Emily, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

"Do me one favor, Jack."

Jack didn't feel it necessary to respond to his grandmother. She must have known that he was powerless to do anything but obey. And she made her request as she moved toward the door, Sark, Emily, and Sloane behind her.

"Ask your mother if she remembers a little thing called the prophecy."


	21. Gone

****

Chapter Twenty-One: Gone

Michael and Sydney returned from the restaurant late, horny, and a little drunk, not necessarily in that order. They were barely through the front door when his lips began their assault on the neck and shoulders that the strappy dress she wore left bare. She pushed off his jacket and began struggling with the buttons of his white dress shirt as his lips returned, hungrily, to hers, claiming her mouth with one biting kiss after another.

"Take me to bed, Michael," she breathed.

"Whatever the lady wants," he responded in a low murmur. It was something he had said before, often, usually when he knew how desperate for him she was.

"Good," she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Because the lady wants you in her bed. Now."

"I'd put those plans on hold for now if I were you."  


Sydney screamed and jumped back, her face reddening. Somehow, for the space of about thirty seconds, she'd managed to forget that she had children that very well might be home and awake at this late hour on New Year's Eve-- well, New Year's Day, now, she supposed. For a split second, she flashed back to the night in St. Bart's when her father had walked in on her and Michael in a similar situation, demanding to know if they had betrayed him. She wasn't sure which was more embarrassing-- being caught in the act by Jack Bristow, or by Jack Vaughn.

But like Jack Bristow, Jack Vaughn didn't appear embarrassed at all. In fact, it seemed he had an agenda. "You're home awfully late," he said, his voice almost hostile. "I'd have thought you'd want to get home at a decent hour to make sure your children were home safe in their beds."

"Jack--"

"But when have you ever done the sensible thing?" Jack interrupted, his voice loud, angry. "When have you ever done anything but bliss out about how lucky you are to be living on your little island with your little restaurant and your little family? When have you ever thought to do anything like tell your children about your pasts with the CIA and the wonderful Organization, so they might know who their parents are? When have you ever told them how dangerous their grandmother is, so they would know better than to welcome her with open arms when she came to town?"

"Jack, what are you talking about?" He was truly scaring Sydney, not just with his words, but with his voice, which had grown louder and louder until he was practically screaming.

"Emily is gone."

It took a moment for the statement to register with either Michael or Sydney. "What do you mean, gone?" Michael finally asked. "Is she still out with Keith?"

"No, Dad, she's not still out with Keith." Jack spit out the words as if they tasted bad. "You have much worse things to worry about than your precious little girl going too far with her boyfriend. But then, you already know that, don't you?"

"Jack, just tell us what's happened," Sydney begged. The CIA...the Organization...her mother...oh, God, it could have been anything.

"Emily and I saw our grandmother."

Sydney stared at her son, eyes filled with horror. "Jack, why would you--"

"We didn't know, all right?" Jack shouted, green eyes blazing anger. "There could have been a million reasons we hadn't seen her in a decade. Like Emily said, lots of people don't speak to their parents."

"Jack--"

"You should have warned us, damn it!" Jack cut in, angry tears clouding his eyes. "You should have warned us how dangerous she was! You should have told us why you didn't want us to see her!"

"Jack, we need a straight answer from you." Through the steel in Michael's voice, Sydney could hear the barely contained hysterics. "Where is Emily?"

"I don't _know_," Jack spat, turning a gaze full of something very close to hatred on Sydney.

"Why don't you ask your mother?"


	22. The Plan

****

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Plan

To Jack's surprise, his mother didn't get angry at his outburst, nor did she break down crying at the news of what had happened to her little girl. Instead, she simply sank down on the living room couch, looking dazed but nothing more. "Jack, what time did you last see Emily?"

__

Of course, Jack thought bitterly. _She was a spy. She was trained to think on her feet, not let her emotions get involved._

"Uh--" They weren't going to be happy about this one. "Around eleven, I guess."

"Jack!" Oops. Jack had never seen his father so angry. "It's three a.m., you couldn't have--"

"He was angry, Michael," Sydney interrupted, eerily calm. "And anyway, it wouldn't have done for him to barge into the restaurant and create a huge scene. It's best if we keep this quiet, not get the local authorities involved."

"What do you propose we do then, Sydney?"

Jack looked back and forth between his parents, amazed. He'd been prepared to make them feel absolutely wretched for withholding information about their pasts from him, to demand answers. It seemed, though, that he wouldn't get the answers he craved even then.

"Jack," Sydney told him, with the calm precision of a drill sergeant. "Call the airport. Find out where all the flights that left between eleven p.m. and now are headed."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack responded, but he was too dazed and impressed to move until he heard the rest of her strategy.

"Michael," Sydney continued. "There's a chance they might still be on the island. You should probably--"

"I'll look around, see what I can find out," he promised. "Where was the last place you saw them, Jack?"

"The-- ah-- the White Sands Hotel," Jack said, still having trouble believing that this was really happening, and happening like this.

"And you actually saw your grandmother leave with Emily?"

Jack's head was spinning. "I saw them leave the room. I don't know if they left the hotel or not. They were staying on the tenth floor."

"They-- who else was with your grandmother, Jack?" Michael asked, brow knitted in concern.

"I-- uh--" Jack suddenly felt idiotic, unprepared. He'd been so ready to demand answers from his parents, to make them understand what a mistake it had been to hide their pasts from him, that he felt like he hadn't remembered to keep track of nearly enough important details. "Someone called Sark."

His parents exchanged a glance, one Jack found impossible to read.

"And Sloane. Arvin Sloane."

Jack's mother gasped, and his father let out a curse he had never heard leave the man's mouth.

"I'm going to go see what I can find out," Michael resolved, green eyes full of fire. "Jack, after you call the airlines, I'm going to need you to tell your mother _everything_ you know. No leaving out details because you think she'll get angry, or because you're trying to get back at us for not sharing enough about ourselves with you."

"_Okay_, Dad." Jack felt the anger rise up in the pit of his stomach all over again. Of _course_ he would tell his mother everything. He'd never do anything to endanger his sister's life.

Except deep down, he feared he already had. He feared that by not running to the restaurant and telling his parents everything the minute his grandmother had left, he had put his sister in danger. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

"I'm going to start at the hotel," Michael told his wife, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "I'll have my cell with me, and I'll call if I find out anything. Get in touch with me if Jack tells you anything you think might help me, okay?"

"Of course." Jack watched as his mother squeezed his father's hand, eyes full of warmth and determination. "Be careful."

"You, too."

And just like that, Jack's father was gone, and Jack was left staring at his mother.

"Call the airport from the phone in the kitchen," she instructed him. "I'll be here, on my cell phone. Getting in touch with my father." 


	23. Secrets Revealed

****

Chapter Twenty-Three: Secrets Revealed

"I got the list of flights," Jack said, approaching his mother tentatively. She'd looked in on him a couple of times when he was obtaining the information; he was sure she'd expected him to gather it more quickly, but what the hell. It wasn't like _he'd_ been trained as a spy or anything.

"Good," she said, taking the list from him and looking it over with a frown. "I'll have to call my father with this," she said, more to herself than to him. "I'm sure he has contacts in these places. I just hope he's working on this himself, and hasn't involved the CIA."

Jack looked at her curiously. Even now, he couldn't help wanting answers to the questions that plagued him. "Who is your father?"

Sydney looked at him, a flicker of a smile crossing her worried face. "His name is Jack Bristow," she told him. "He's an officer with the CIA. Retired, mostly, except for--" she paused as if unsure how much she should reveal. "What did your grandmother tell you? I'll want to tell him that when I call back, too."

"She told me about Dad being asked to leave the CIA." He watched his mother look away. As if she could avoid the memory by avoiding his eyes. "That the two of you came to work for her organization. That you betrayed her."

Sydney nodded, tears shining in her brown eyes. "Did she tell you what her organization does?"

"She said it's interested in power, wealth, and world domination," Jack said with a smirk. "I take it they're not exactly good guys."

Sydney let out a short burst of laughter. "Not exactly."

"Why-- um--" Jack bit his lower lip, unsure of whether to ask his next question. "Why did you and Dad go to work for her?" When his mother didn't answer right away, he pressed on. "To take her down?"

"That's what we said our goal was in the beginning." Sydney walked over to the kitchen window, gazing out into the night as if the darkness would provide her with some answers. "Later, what we were doing there became a little unclear."

"But you did take her down," Jack prompted.

"A decade later," Sydney said, but she didn't look terribly happy about the fact. "Mostly by accident. Mostly to save our own asses. My father approached us with a deal." Still she looked out the window instead of him. "We could turn ourselves in, tell him everything we knew about her operation. Or we could tell him nothing, and he'd find another way to bring her down, and when he did, we'd go to jail along with everyone else." She laughed again, a short, bitter little laugh. "Hard decision, huh? The only thing that made us even hesitate was the fear that your grandmother would manage to keep herself out of prison, that one day she'd come after you kids." She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was full of tears. "And now she has."

"Mom--" Jack moved to stand beside her, to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

"Your father and I said we wanted to bring down her operation, Jack, but the truth is, we would have gone to work for Satan himself if it meant we could be together."

Jack stared at her, doing his best to comprehend the statement. "That's romantic, I guess."

"I guess," Sydney agreed. "And it's still the truth, even now. But I know now there are other choices we could have made. I could have stayed with the CIA, he could have chosen another career. We still could have dated, gotten married." She shrugged. "Funny how unclear that seemed when we sold our souls to the Organization. Funny how doing so seemed like the only choice."

"I'm sure you did what you thought was best at the time, Mom," Jack said, feeling a rush of compassion for her even through his anger at being left in the dark about her past for so long.

His words seemed to bring her out of her memories, bring her back to reality. "Yeah," she said brusquely. "Yeah, we did. What's the point of regretting anything, anyway? You can't change the past, right?"

"Right." The problem was, Jack still felt like he knew too little about his own past for that to even be an option.

"I need to call my father back," she said, looking down at the list of flight times in her hand. "Jack, is there anything else your grandmother told you that seemed important? You mentioned Sloane-- I assume the two of them are working together?"

Jack nodded. "Oh, and there was one more thing."

His mother looked at him expectantly.

"She mentioned something called the Prophecy." 


	24. All in Good Time

****

Chapter Twenty-four: All in Good Time

"You really should eat something, Emily dear."

Emily looked up hatefully at the man who called himself Mr. Sark. She had never felt so utterly helpless in her life. All she knew was that she was no longer on the island, that she was in a hotel room in a city that had taken something like four hours to fly to. She'd never been good at geography, and she had been blindfolded on the ride from the airport to the hotel. As far as she was concerned, she literally could have been literally anywhere on the planet. 

Well, not anywhere. The place she was at had a relatively warm climate. She knew that much. She didn't think it was enough. Anyway, her grandmother had assured her they'd be leaving again soon. "Not too soon, though," she'd assured her with a smile. "We must give your parents enough time to be just one step behind us."

Emily knew it couldn't be a good thing that her grandmother actually _wanted_ to be caught by her parents. If she had learned anything in the time she had spent in her grandmother's presence, it was that the woman always had a plan. The only thing that kept Emily from completely losing it was the thought that her parents had foiled Irina once. Maybe they'd be able to do it again.

"My parents will probably contact the CIA to help them find me, you know," she told Sark haughtily.

Sark let out a short, mirthless little laugh. "The CIA has better things to do than run along after a couple of ex-agents' kidnapped daughter, love. No, if your grandmother and I know your parents, they will have called Jack Bristow."

"Who's Jack Bristow?" Emily asked. She wondered where her grandmother and Sloane were. They'd been at the hotel for a couple of hours now, and the two of them had disappeared shortly after their arrival.

"He's your grandfather," Sark told her. He seemed to find it quite amusing that she didn't already know that. "A CIA agent, though he was once a double at SD-6, just like your mother. Sloane believed Mr. Bristow was retired from the intelligence game, until we told him of the man's other activities. Needless to say, Sloane is nearly as intent on revenge on him as revenge on your mother."

"Why does he care?" Emily asked bitterly. "SD-6 is still going strong, why does he feel the need for revenge on anyone?"

"It's the principle of the thing, my darling girl." Sark moved around the chair she sat in to squeeze her shoulder, and Emily shuddered. "Arvin Sloane does not like to be made a fool of."

"Great." Emily stared off into the distance. Of course she wasn't allowed to open the curtains. "So you want revenge on my parents. What do you want with me?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Sark assured her. She wished he would stop standing behind her. He was creeping her out. "But I'm sure you'll find, once we've finished our business with your parents and are back at Organization headquarters, that it's much nicer to work with us than against us. If you cooperate, we can make sure that you're kept quite comfortable."

"And if I don't?" she challenged.

Sark moved to stand in front of her, a smile playing about his lips. "We're quite confident that you will. If you don't, I'm quite sure that you won't suffer too badly for us. You're quite important to us, Emily."

"Why?" For some reason, Emily wasn't afraid that they would hurt her. But she was scared to death of what they would expect of her.

Sark's smile didn't put her fears to rest, nor did his words.

"All in good time, dear. All in good time."


	25. The Next Step

****

Chapter Twenty-five: The Next Step

The Vaughn family spent a restless two days with no word from Emily. Sydney and Michael were trying to keep up appearances that everything was normal; they kept the restaurant open, but left most of the day-to-day operations to their assistant manager, claiming that they wanted to spend more time with Jack before he went back to college. They spent most of their time on the phone with various contacts, pursuing any lead they could find. Sydney suggested at least once every few hours that they hop on a plane and start scoping out every conceivable location Emily might possibly be, but again and again, Michael vetoed that idea. "You know your mother, Sydney," he said once, his voice low. "There's no way in hell we'll find Emily if Irina doesn't want us to."

The words had sent shivers down Jack's spine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so scared.

On the third day of her disappearance, Jack found himself basically alone. His mother was upstairs on the phone, and his father had decided to spend a couple of hours at the restaurant-- to clear his head, he claimed. He was sitting on the living room couch, staring blankly at the TV screen-- he was paying so little attention he wouldn't have been able to say whether he was watching golf or a porno flick-- when the doorbell rang, causing him to jump about ten feet in the air.

He peeked through the window beside the door, finding that he was gazing at a gray-haired man who looked to be in his early seventies. He didn't recognize him. He shouldn't have opened the door. But the man looked so familiar.

"Hello," the man said, his voice gruff. "You must be Jack Vaughn. I'm Jack Bristow."

Jack did a double take. His mother hadn't told him that they were expecting his grandfather. Even more surprising, though-- "Hey, I've met you before."

The man raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"When I was eight," he said in a rush. "You came up to me after school. Then a couple of days later, I saw you by our house--" he blushed. "And I called my grandmother and told her a suspicious man was hanging around."

"I guess I couldn't have expected you to know better," the man said coolly. "But you should probably know that you almost cost your parents their freedom that day. If the two of them hadn't been able to convince me that they hadn't betrayed me, themselves, things might have ended quite differently."

"I--" There was something about this man that made Jack want to apologize and deem himself unworthy to be in his presence. He was that intimidating.

"Is your mother home?" Jack Bristow asked, pushing past his grandson into the house.

"Upstairs," Jack said. "How--" he couldn't resist asking the question. "How come I've never met you before? Officially, I mean."

"It's unsafe for me to visit your mother, and vice versa. Circumstances dictate that we see each other as little as possible," his grandfather explained. He was thin, Jack noted, thinner than he remembered him, but he carried himself with a certain air of authority that was far from hidden under the white shirt and dark slacks he wore. "Now, would you mind--"

"Dad." Jack watched his mother appear at the top of the stairs. Even though she clearly hadn't slept in days, she still managed to look beautiful. "Thank you for coming."

"Hello, Sydney," Jack Bristow said. Sydney made her way down the stairs, and the two of them embraced in a quick, awkward hug. Jack could only have imagined what had gone on between the two of them over the years.

"Michael had to run over to the restaurant for a bit, but I'd like to get started," Sydney said, her voice cool, businesslike. And tired. She sounded so very, very tired. "What do you propose our next course of action should be?"

"First of all," he said, pulling an envelope out of his jacket pocket. The names "Sydney and Michael" were typed on the front. "I found this on your front porch. I think our first course of action should be to deal with this."

Sydney snatched the envelope out of his hand and tore into it. Jack stood over her shoulder as she took the piece of paper from the envelope and began to read:

__

Dearest Sydney and Michael. As I'm sure you realize, I have your daughter…


	26. Little Hope

****

Chapter Twenty-Six: Little Hope

"Holy shit," Sydney muttered, jerking away from Jack before he had a chance to read the rest of the note.

"What does it say, Sydney?" Jack Bristow asked brusquely.

"I--" she shook her head as if dazed. "I have to call Michael."

"Tell me what it says, Sydney."

"Dad." Jack watched his mother shoot her father a glare that was part impatience, part frustration, part warning. Not so different than the looks Jack had shot his parents when they'd argued about him leaving the island for college. "I appreciate that you've come to help us, but Michael and I will be making the final decisions when it comes to my daughter, and I need him here with me. It was a mistake to read the note without him."

"So damned stubborn," Jack Bristow muttered under his breath.

"I could say the same about you," Sydney shot back.

"What the hell does that mean, Sydney?"

Jack Vaughn looked back and forth between his mother and grandfather as if watching a tennis match. Only it wasn't tennis balls they were hitting. It was years of pent up anger and resentment.

"I mean you could have been more a part of my life this past decade, if you wanted to."

Jack watched his grandfather's eyes widen in surprise. "I wasn't aware that was something you wanted."

Sydney's eyes filled with tears. "Yeah, well, maybe I thought you should just know." She bit her lower lip, staring off into the distance. "It was hardly an easy decision for Michael and me, Dad. Leaving Mom's organization. Taking your deal. We put ourselves, our children, in so much danger, Dad. We've spent the last decade looking over our shoulders."

Now it was Jack's turn to be surprised. His parents had spent the last decade looking over their shoulders? Funny how he'd never noticed. He'd been too busy hanging out with friends and falling in and out of love and applying to colleges.

Living, he realized now, a completely normal life. His parents had sacrificed so much to give him that life, and he'd never even appreciated it. He'd sulked and made things difficult for them and gotten angry that they hadn't told him more. Why? Why couldn't he have just been like Emily, quietly content to be living an ordinary existence?

But Emily had disappeared, throwing a wrench in that ordinary existence. And Jack's grandfather wasn't about to let Sydney off the hook so easily. "You act as if what you did was so noble," he spat. "The truth is, you got yourself into a bad situation, I offered you a way out, and you took it. Hell, Sydney, you didn't even agree to take it until I threatened you at gun point. Or are you forgetting St. Bart's?"

"How could I forget?" Sydney retorted. "How could I forget you ambushing Michael and I days before we were even supposed to give you our answer? All because you didn't trust me."

"Trust?" her father repeated incredulously. "Forgive me if I wasn't so willing to trust someone who had spent the previous decade as Irina Derevko's willing little servant."

Sydney opened her mouth as if to hurl an insult back at him, then stopped short. When she did speak, her voice was soft, calm. "So you didn't want to trust me, fine," she said, running a hand back through her dark hair with a sigh. "But what has trust had to do with the last ten years, Dad? You could have had more contact with me if you wanted. You could have at the very least gotten to know your grandchildren."

The two of them turned to Jack as if seeing him for the first time. Jack blushed, suddenly wishing he could disappear into the living room carpet.

"I can't take back what I've done, Sydney." Now Jack's grandfather's voice was soft, too. "And we don't have time to spend reliving the past now."

The tears sprung to Sydney's eyes all over again, and she looked away. "I guess we don't."

Her father reached out and placed a hesitant hand on her arm. "Go call your husband," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "And maybe when we find your little girl…well, maybe that would be a good time for me to start getting to know her."

Sydney smiled at her father, but it was a smile full of sadness, and little hope.

Jack supposed there were too many disappointments and broken promises between her and her father for much of that.


	27. The Call

****

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Call

Emily Vaughn stared listlessly out the window of her hotel room. She had been with her grandmother for something like three days, and she'd spent most of her time on planes and in hotel rooms. She still had hope that her parents would find her. She just knew that it was going to be damned hard for them, what with all the moving around they were doing.

She moved away from the window, perching on the edge of the queen-sized bed, thinking about how she'd left things with her family.

Jack. She had left him horrified, terrified, and feeling completely helpless. She'd seen the look on his face once before. She'd been eight, and he'd been twelve, and their parents had left him in charge while they'd gone to the restaurant. Jack had been irritated that he had to watch her. His friends from school were going to play football on the beach, and he wanted to go along.

Come on, Mom, Emily heard him whine, as clearly as if he were in the room with her just then. _Can't I just take her with me?_

__

Jack, it's going to be dark soon, and anyway, it's supposed to storm, Sydney responded. _Just stay inside, okay? Play a game or something._

Jack had decided that they'd go anyway. Emily hadn't wanted to-- she'd been quite the goody-goody in those days-- but he'd made her. 

__

I had to bring my sister along, Emily remembered Jack saying, rolling his eyes to let his friends know exactly what he thought of it.

__

Hey, it's okay, Colby Sawyer had said, flashing Emily a smile._ Why doesn't she play, too?_

It hadn't been a good suggestion. Emily had tripped in a hole in the sand and sprained her ankle. It had been so swollen she could scarcely even walk.

And Jack had given her the Look. The look that was part guilt, part pity, and part disgust. Disgust that she'd ruined everything, messed up his universe. Of course they'd had to tell their parents what had happened. Of course Jack had gotten in trouble and Emily had gotten more coddled and pampered than usual.

Emily had gotten the feeling that Jack had wanted to like her, when they were kids. But she was too fragile, too perfect, too sweet. It had gotten better as they'd gotten older. But Emily couldn't help wondering if, even now, through his worry, through his guilt, Jack was feeling resentful that once again, she'd fucked up his universe. And even though she was absent, their parents' attention was undoubtedly all on her.

The door to her room opened, and Irina entered, carrying a bag from Taco Bell. The image startled Emily. However she thought of her grandmother, it was not as a woman who would ever set foot in a Taco Bell.

"I-- thought you might like this," Irina said hesitantly. "You haven't eaten hardly a thing in the last few days."

"It hasn't been because I haven't liked the food," Emily murmured.

"Yes, I know." Quietly, Irina placed the bag on the nightstand beside the bed. "What can I do to make you more comfortable, darling?"

Emily felt tears spring to her brown eyes. "You can let me go home," she said, suddenly feeling like a six-year-old away for the first time at sleep away camp. All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed, to see her mommy and daddy and big brother.

"You know I can't do that, Emily," Irina said, perching next to her on the bed.

"Can't you at least tell me why I'm here?" Emily asked mournfully.

"No," Irina said. "But I can tell you that you'll see your parents again very soon.

Emily felt a quick surge of happiness, quickly followed by a surge of dread. If Irina had alerted her parents to her whereabouts, it meant that she had a plan in store for them.

"Tell me about them."

Emily looked at her grandmother quizzically. "What? You know my parents."

"Not like you know them."

Emily sighed. What the hell did she want to know? That her dad went for a long swim every night and that her mom, without fail, greeted him at the water's edge with a towel and one of his tattered gray t-shirts? That Jack swam with him when he was home, and it was the only time the two men really connected?

The thing was, Emily had the feeling her grandmother would be happy to know any of those things, or anything at all. So Emily simply began talking. "My mom always knows exactly what I'm thinking, exactly when I'm up to something," she said softly. "You would think that I'd never get away with anything, but she lets me sometimes."

Irina smiled encouragingly.

"And Daddy's really uptight, and overprotective." Emily felt a lump form in her throat. "But he loves me so much." To her own horror, she began to cry. He must have been so worried about her, they all must have been. They must have missed her so much.

"There, there, darling," Irina soothed, slipping what was undoubtedly meant to be a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Why don't you give them a call?"

Emily's tears came to an abrupt stop. "Really?"

"Of course, darling," Irina said, with a smile that was undoubtedly meant to be encouraging. "Just about now, they're probably reading over a lovely little letter I had delivered. I'm sure they'd appreciate a call."

Emily watched, speechlessly, as Irina picked up the phone from the night stand and began dialing. "It's ringing, sweetheart," she said, passing the phone to Emily.

Emily took the phone from her mutely.

"Hello?"

Emily nearly wanted to cry at the sound of the familiar voice on the other end of the line. She forced herself not to as she urged the word out of her throat.

"Mom?"


	28. Know the Rules

****

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Know the Rules

"Emily," Sydney gasped, grasping the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. In perfect sync, her father and son rushed to her side. She thought idly that they should have set up something to trace this call, but it hardly mattered. They knew precisely where Emily was. Her mother's letter had ensured that much. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" she asked, even as a little voice in her head whispered, _Of course she is. Your mother would never harm her. If she took her, it means she has a plan for her._

"I'm fine, Mommy." Emily's voice, so scared, so brittle, nearly made her want to sob. Sydney's daughter had quit calling her _Mommy_ when she was five years old.

"What have they done to you?" Sydney demanded, willing herself not to cry. "They haven't hurt you, have they?" Oh, God, Sloane…Sark…who knew the mind games the two of them were capable of playing on her innocent little girl?

__

She's not innocent, and she's not a little girl, the voice in Sydney's head reminded her. _She's a young woman, and she's seen and done things you don't even want to know about._

But for as intelligent and grown-up as Emily might have been, Sydney knew that she was still terribly naïve. She was way out of her league as far as Sloane, Sark, and Irina were concerned.

"No, Mom." There were tears in Emily's voice, and it killed Sydney that she wasn't there to wipe them away. "I'm fine. Is Daddy there?"

"Oh, no, sweetheart, I'm sorry, he's--" Sydney felt relief flood through her as the front door opened and Michael walked in, handsome as ever in a blue oxford shirt and jeans. But he looked tired, so very, very, tired, and older than Sydney usually thought of him. "He just walked in the door, baby," she told her daughter, locking eyes with her husband.

"Emily?" he mouthed, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and fear. 

Sydney nodded, wordlessly handing him the phone.

"Emily." Sydney placed a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder as he spoke. His free hand reached up to grasp it, to hold on to it for dear life. "How are you, princess?"

__

Princess. He hadn't called her that in years. All at once, the daughter who'd had him tearing his hair out as of late was Daddy's little girl again.

Michael held the phone far enough away from his ear that Sydney could lean close and hear Emily's end of the conversation. "I'm fine, Daddy," Emily said. "But-- I don't know where I am."

It was on the tip of Sydney's tongue to whisper to Michael that she knew where Emily was, to tell him all about the letter. But suddenly it wasn't Emily on the other end of the line. It was a familiar voice, though one Sydney hadn't heard in years.

"Hello, Michael darling." The years hadn't aged Irina Derevko's voice a bit. It was still smooth as silk. "It's been a long time."

"Irina, if you hurt my daughter, I swear--"

"There, there, Michael." Sydney's mother's voice was gentle, scolding. "You know me better than that. I would never hurt your little princess. She's far too important."

"Too important for _what_?" Sydney squeezed Michael's hand, willing him to keep his temper in check.

"Surely you remember a little thing called the prophecy, Michael."

Sydney and Michael shared a look. Of course they remembered the prophecy.

"If I remember correctly, you busted your darling Sydney out of federal custody in order to prove that prophecy wrong," Irina continued. "You had such faith in her, Michael. That always touched me about you. Of course, your instincts were right. Sydney wasn't the woman described. The woman described wasn't even a twinkle in your eye yet."

"Irina--"

"Tell me, Michael," Irina interrupted. "When you were putting yourself on the line for my daughter all those years ago, did you ever guess it would turn out like this? That she would be your downfall-- the end of your career, your life as you knew it?"

Sydney snatched the phone away from her husband in one deft motion. "Damn you, Mother, I'm sick of you playing games with us, and I will _not _allow you to use my daughter as a means to whatever despicable end you're working toward."

"Allow me?" Irina's voice was practically a purr. "Why, Sydney, it sounds as if you're under the mistaken impression that you're in control of this game."

Sydney found herself breathless, unable to even speak as her mother continued.

"You don't even know the rules."


	29. Away from the Island

****

Chapter Twenty-nine: Away from the Island

__

Dearest Sydney and Michael,

As I'm sure you realize, I have your daughter. Such a lovely girl. So beautiful and spirited-- so much like you, Sydney. I'm sure she's the apple of her father's eye. I'm sure you must miss her a great deal.

__

Well, fear not, my darlings. I have hardly contacted you just to torment you, and I hardly kidnapped your precious Emily just so I could spend time with my granddaughter. As always, I have a plan, for your daughter, and for the two of you as well.

__

The day after you receive this letter, please make sure you are at the Credit Dauphine building in Los Angeles, CA, at 6 p.m. I'm sure you remember where it is. At that time, you will see that your daughter is safe. I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to involve local or federal authorities.

__

See you soon, Sydney and Michael. I hope that you've enjoyed the last decade. I'd hate to think that you sold me out to the CIA for nothing.

__

Sincerely, 

Irina

__

P.S. Please be sure to bring your son to the meeting, and be sure to thank him for his cooperation on New Year's Eve.

Jack Bristow looked up from the letter as Sydney hung up the phone, tears in her eyes, a hand clasped over her mouth. Michael was quick to wrap his arms around her, to whisper to her soothingly. _It's okay, baby. We'll get through this._

"Well, clearly, this is a trap," Jack said flatly, waving the letter in the air.

"What is that?" Michael asked, frowning at the letter curiously.

"Oh, Michael, you have to read that," Sydney said, disengaging herself from his embrace. "It's-- instructions."

Jack handed the letter to his son-in-law wordlessly, watching as he read the letter. "Son of a bitch," Michael muttered. "She's summoning us to SD-6 headquarters?"

"Surely you know what she plans to do," Jack said, looking from Michael to Sydney expectantly.

"I don't know, I suspect," Michael said, his voice flat. "I suspect she has no intention of letting Emily go, and once she has Sydney, Jack, and me, she won't let us go, either."

"Precisely," Jack said, shooting a quick glance at his grandson. The young man looked nothing if not completely dazed. "Only of course she won't trust the two of you to work for her. She'll keep you in a prison that you'll step into willingly, telling you that she'll kill your children if you don't obey her every whim. Meanwhile, she'll put Jack and Emily to work, telling them, of course, that she'll kill the two of you if they don't do as she says."

"God, she knows how to turn the screws," Sydney murmured, leaning against the back of the couch. "We're idiots if we step into her trap, but we can't just leave Emily there, either."

"It's curious that she didn't involve me in the note," Jack said thoughtfully. "Surely she suspects you've contacted me. I wouldn't think she'd want to leave any member of your team free."

"I'm sure she has some plan for you later, some demand to make of the CIA that she needs you free for," Sydney sighed. "I just--"

She was interrupted by a rapping on the door. "Oh, God. Jack," she said, nodding at her son. "Send whoever it is away, hmm?"

Unfortunately, Michael hadn't locked the door behind him when he'd come in, and their visitor didn't wait for a reply.

"Hey," said a young man, appearing among them. "Any word on Emily?"

"Who the hell is this?" Jack asked, looking from the boy to Michael and Sydney in dismay. Surely they hadn't been foolish enough to let people know that Emily was missing.

"Dad, this is Keith Jones, Emily's boyfriend," Sydney said with a sigh. "He was there with Jack the night Irina took Emily away. He heard everything."

"You haven't told anyone, have you?" Jack asked in alarm. It irked him that there was some random teenager wandering around knowing things he had no business knowing. And besides-- "Isn't Emily too young to have a boyfriend?"

"Tell me about it," Michael groaned.

"Emily's in high school, you know," Keith said defensively. "And no, I haven't told anyone. Emily's grandma told me not to, and she was--" he paused as if searching for the right words. "Kind of scary."

"Tell me about it," Jack groaned.

"Keith, Emily is safe, and we'll be seeing her soon," Sydney told him. "I really can't tell you anymore."

"No, wait," Jack said, as an idea occurred to him. "Keith, how involved in this are you willing to be?"

"Dad, we can't just put Emily's boyfriend in danger," Sydney said, looking exasperated.

"He won't be in danger," Jack insisted, then frowned. "Much."

"I want to be involved," Keith said eagerly. "And I don't mind danger."

"Please," Jack Vaughn scoffed. "Your idea of danger is sneaking into Emily's bedroom in the middle of the night when you know our dad is home."

"What?" Michael asked, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"Michael, please, we can worry about your daughter's virtue later," Jack Bristow said with a smirk. He turned his attention to Emily's boyfriend.

"So what do you say, Keith? You think you can get away from the island for a few days?"  



	30. No Regrets

****

Chapter Thirty: No Regrets

Sydney entered her bedroom that night to find Michael staring out the window. They were heading to Los Angeles the next morning; she and Michael had wanted to leave that night, but her father had thought it best that they all get a good night's sleep. Sydney thought there was a slim chance of that happening-- neither she nor Michael had slept much since the night before New Year's Eve-- but she hadn't wanted to argue.

"Ready for bed, baby?"

Michael turned to face her with a start; Sydney was surprised to see him hastily wiping tears from his cheeks. It wasn't that their situation didn't warrant tears. It was just that Sydney hadn't seen her husband cry since Emily was a baby, back when the two of them had been unsure their little girl would make it.

Kind of like now.

Sydney wanted to tell Michael not to hide his tears from her, to go ahead and cry. She didn't; instead, she rushed into his arms and let him hold her so tightly she feared he would crush her. 

"I love you," he said after a moment, releasing her from his embrace.

"I love you, Mike," she responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head against his chest. "So much."

They stood there for another moment like that before Michael spoke again. "Tell me, Syd," he said. "In the last four months, did I say even one kind word to our daughter?"

"Mike--"

"Because it seems like all I did was lecture and punish," Mike interrupted, disentangling himself from her. He paced over to the bed and sat, tears gleaming in his green eyes.

Sydney moved to sit next to him, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "She knows that you love her, Michael."

"I know," he sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "I just feel like I haven't handled her growing up so well."

"You're her father, Michael, and you've had reason to be worried," Sydney said quietly. "She's dating a young man who's three years older, you caught her sneaking out of the house. Neither of those things are so bad, but she was your perfect little princess for so long…" she let her voice trail off. "I imagine it was hard to see her fall from her pedestal."

Another sigh from Michael. "She was never perfect, Sydney." He paused. "Maybe I liked to think that she was."

"It's okay," Sydney told him. "Daddies sometimes see their daughters through rose-colored glasses." Even as she said the words, she felt a pang. The same certainly wasn't true of her own father. He'd never met her first boyfriend, hadn't even been there to watch her leave for her junior prom. He'd sent her money for a dress from whatever corner of the world he'd been off to at the time and called and told her to try and be in at a decent hour. He'd stopped employing a nanny by that point; it would have served him right if she'd come in at dawn, puking drunk and missing her virginity. As it was, her date had dumped her for the prom queen and she'd come home bawling at ten p.m. She'd held onto her virginity until college, until Noah-- God, it seemed like it had happened so long ago.

"You know he loves you," Michael said quietly, as if reading her mind.

"Oh, it's clear he'll come through for me when I really need him," Sydney said, tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. "He's just never been so good at the day-to-day stuff, you know?"

Michael didn't say anything. Now his arm was around her, and he was lightly stroking her shoulder.

"Of course, I'm not completely blameless," Sydney continued. "I mean, I completely cut him out of my life for a decade to--" She let her words trail off, but they both knew what she would have said next: _to be with you._ She'd truly sold her soul to the devil for the man sitting next to her, and he his.

The thing was, she didn't regret it even for a second. 


	31. Saving

****

Chapter Thirty-one: Saving

__

A house. His house, though not the one he lived in now. His hair was greasy, his face unshaven. He hadn't showered or changed clothes in two days, and he didn't even remember the last time he'd eaten. He always forgot to take care of himself when someone he loved was in trouble.

Irina stepped out of a bedroom, his guest bedroom, wrapped in a satiny black robe. "Michael?"

"Irina," he said. In his current state, he barely even recognized her. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"No, it's fine." She approached him, looking almost crestfallen as she looked him up and down. "You look like hell, Michael."

"I know," he said with a sigh, running his hand back through his hair. "I came home to shower."

"How are Sydney and the baby?" 

"The same." The same, meaning, still fighting for their lives. "Look, I just want to shower and get back to the hospital."

"Let me fix you something to eat."

"No, thank you, Irina, I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Irina said, her voice startlingly sharp. "You're a tired, weak mess."

"Look, Irina--"

"You haven't seen your son for two days, and you haven't even asked how he is."

Michael's eyes widened in surprise. Jack? Jack was fine. Jack was in his bedroom, sleeping like an angel. It was Jack's mother, Jack's sister that were in trouble. "He's okay, isn't he?"

"No, Michael, he's not okay," Irina snapped. "He's worried to death about his mommy and sister and he needs his daddy. He'll continue to need his daddy if something happens to his mommy and sister, and I think you'd do well to remember that."

Michael merely stared at her, allowing the weight of her words to sink in. "If something happens." If Syd and their baby girl didn't make it-- oh, God, he didn't even want to think about it. But it wasn't just the two of them he had to think about. "You're right," he said, after a long moment of silence.

"Of course I'm right." Now Irina's voice was soft, almost pitying. She moved toward him with a sad smile, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Poor Michael," she whispered. "I can only imagine what this must be like for you."

"It's not just happening to me." Not that he'd remembered that lately. "Sydney's your daughter."

"Yes," Irina allowed. She smiled sadly at him for another moment before taking a step back. "Take a shower, Mike," she advised. "Then try your best to get some sleep. Of course you'll want to go back to the hospital tomorrow, but I think Jack would really like to have breakfast with his father."

Michael offered her a weak smile. "I'd like that, too." He moved toward her and planted a clumsy kiss on her cheek. "Good night, Irina."

"Good night, sweetheart."

Irina had saved him, that time. Sydney had saved him when he'd been asked to leave the CIA, and Irina had saved him then. It was almost funny. He spent so much of his life trying to be so strong for everyone else. Yet so often, he was the one who needed saving.

He sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A casual glance at the alarm clock told him it was eight a.m. Wow. He had actually gotten a decent night's sleep for once. He looked over at Sydney, smiling to find her still in a deep sleep, her brown hair falling across her face. He brushed it away, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. She stirred, smiling drowsily, but didn't open her eyes. He climbed out of bed, plucking his robe from a hook on the back of the door, and headed down to the kitchen.

To his surprise, he found his father-in-law, already dressed for the day and standing over the stove, monitoring the progress of pans of eggs and bacon.

"Uh--" Michael said, not sure what to do with such a sight. "Morning, Jack."

"Michael," Jack greeted, glancing at him over his shoulder. "This coffee is crap," he announced, lifting the cup that rested next to him on the counter. "Do you serve this swill at your restaurant?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," Michael said, feeling a twinge of irritation. "I've never had any complaints."

"Mmm," Jack responded, taking a sip and making a face. "And you don't keep your cupboards stocked very well, either. I was going to make hash browns, but you don't have any potatoes."

"We eat at the restaurant, mostly," Michael said irritably. What a way to start the morning. Irina in his dreams and Jack in his kitchen. "You didn't have to cook, Jack."

"Sure I did," Jack said with a smirk. "You don't have any cereal."

"Point taken," Michael said with a sigh. "Have you checked on flights?"

"We leave the island at eleven," Jack said unceremoniously. "Which means you should probably get Sydney up soon so the two of you can pack and do whatever else you need to do to get ready. Your son is in the shower, and Keith will be over within the hour."

"Wonderful," Michael muttered, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the pot Jack had brewed.

Jack smirked. "You don't like him?"

"What's to like?" Michael responded, settling down at the kitchen table. "He keeps my daughter out till all hours of the night, sneaks into her bedroom."

"And you never did anything like that when you were his age?"

Michael winced, remembering the clumsy sex he and his high school girlfriend had had on the couch in her parents' basement, removing as few clothes as possible in case they heard someone coming down the stairs. "If Keith is anything like I was when I was a teenager, I should be terrified," he murmured.

"Oh, I don't know," Jack said, amusement glinting in his brown eyes. "You turned out okay, and I'm sure your high school girlfriends did, too."

Michael grimaced. "I don't know if I'd say I turned out okay." His life certainly hadn't gone the way he'd planned, anyway.

"Oh, come on." Jack placed a plate and fork in front of Michael and began dishing up eggs and bacon. "You've spent the last two decades married to a woman you're desperately in love with, you have two great kids, and ten years ago you took down one of the world's largest crime syndicates. Men have accomplished a lot less in one lifetime and called themselves successful."

"Except that the leader of that crime syndicate is still out there," Michael said glumly, pushing his eggs around on his plate. "And she has one of my great kids right now."

Jack joined him at the table, staring at him silently for a moment. "We'll get her, Michael," he said quietly.

"Yeah." Michael stared down at his plate, the eggs and bacon there blurring under his teary gaze. "I know."

Jack crunched on a piece of bacon and made a face. "This tastes strange," he declared.

Michael managed a small smile. "It's made out of soy, or something."

"It's what?" Jack asked, perplexed.

Michael's smile widened. "Emily's going through this phase where she doesn't eat meat. I don't know if it'll last, or what, but we don't want her to starve to death in the meantime."

Jack took another bite, cocking his head to one side in consideration. "It's not so bad."

Michael laughed, surprising himself with the sound.

Jack nodded, looking oddly certain. "Emily's going to be fine," he determined. "I think she's going to be just fine."


	32. Before the Game is Over

****

Chapter Thirty-two: Before the Game is Over

Sydney rose uncertainly from her seat on the plane later that day, casting a glance to the seat beside her, where Michael slept, his mouth open rather unattractively, she supposed, though she found it hard to see him as anything but adorable. She gave him a light kiss on the forehead before she moved up to the seat in front of her, slipping in beside her father. As predicted, he was wide awake.

"Hey," she said softly.

Her father nodded a greeting. "I thought you might doze off like everyone else." Across the aisle, Jack and Keith were sleeping as soundly as Michael.

"I slept okay last night," Sydney said with a shrug. "I thought Mike did, too, but he must be really zonked, he hardly ever sleeps on planes."

"Well, the two of you have had a lot on your minds," her father said, running a hand back through his gray hair. It had been gray since he was in his mid-forties, Sydney noted, and she'd never really thought it made him look old. He'd always been handsome, distinguished. Now, though, that he was past seventy, he was finally starting to show his age. It was a hard thing to witness; Sydney had always thought her big, strong daddy invincible against little things like aging.

"I really appreciate you coming with us, Dad," Sydney told him.

Jack shook his head as if to say, _It's nothing_. "You were right, Sydney," he said, his voice soft, regretful. "I could have made more of an effort to be part of your life this past decade."

Sydney shook her head. "I understand why you didn't."

"Of course you do," Jack said quietly. "Your mother betrayed me, I spent a decade wondering if you'd done the same--"

"Dad--" Sydney tried to interrupt, but her father would have none of it.

"But still," Jack continued. "I cheated myself out of knowing the only grandchildren I'll ever have, and I'm sorry for that. When this is all over--"

"_If_ this is all over," Sydney corrected.

"When." Jack said firmly. "When this is over, when we finally catch Derevko and Sloane, maybe I can talk to the CIA about ending your and Michael's exile to the island. You could come back to LA."

"Dad, Michael and I don't want to leave the island." It was true. The island may have been a prison of sorts, but she and Michael had made a real home there. She didn't want to leave. "You could come stay with us," Sydney suggested.

"Maybe."

Sydney knew that the maybe was a _no_, that when-- if-- this was all over, things would go back precisely to the way things had been before. Her and Michael on the island, her father somewhere else. It made her more than a little sad, but she had resigned herself to believing that this was the way it had to be.

"So I'm still not sure why you wanted Keith to come with us," Sydney said, stealing a glance across the aisle at her daughter's boyfriend. Poor kid. When he'd started dating Emily, he'd undoubtedly expected holding hands at the movies, walks on the beach, late night make out sections. Now, he was on a plane ready to do battle with her evil grandmother.

Her father hesitated before answering. "Sydney, I have no doubt that we'll eventually beat Derevko," he finally said. "But I'm prepared for the possibility that she might have you and Michael in custody for at least a little while, and--"

"--And you want someone from the island to know what happened to us," Sydney interjected. "Got it."

The two were silent for a moment before Sydney spoke again. "Dad."

"Yes, Sydney."

Now it was Sydney's turn to hesitate. "You talked about catching Derevko and Sloane, but Dad-- you need to know that getting Emily back is all I care about. I learned a long time ago that battling the two of them is nothing but futile."

Jack's features darkened. "No, Sydney. Trying to beat Derevko and Sloane is difficult, and it may seem endless. But it's not futile."

Sydney opened her mouth and then closed it again, unsure of what to say.

"Look, Sydney," Jack said, the picture of earnest determination. "A decade ago you took down Derevko's organization, and that was an amazing accomplishment. Your only mistake was thinking that the battle was over."

"Dad--"

"I know, I know," Jack said hurriedly. "You didn't want to spend your life fighting, you wanted to have a normal life with your husband and children."

Sydney knew he wanted to say more. He didn't have to. She knew what he meant. Yes, maybe she could have the normal life she'd always dreamed of.

But that didn't mean she could give up before the game was truly over.


	33. Lifetimes

****

Chapter Thirty-three: Lifetimes

Los Angeles. The Credit Dauphine building. Being there again felt utterly foreign to Sydney, almost as if it were somewhere she'd visited in a different lifetime. She supposed in a way, she'd lived two lifetimes since she'd been there last-- one as Irina Derevko's minion, and another as a restaurant owner, wife, and mother.

There was one thing that had been a constant through much of her three lifetimes, though, and that was the man seated next to her. She'd called him Vaughn during their first lifetime, then Michael, then darling and baby and a dozen other endearments, but no matter how she'd addressed him, he'd always been the same man.

Strong. Loving. Her rock.

She, Michael, and Jack been escorted to the room they now sat in as soon as they'd arrived at Credit Dauphine, the same conference room where she and Dixon had received countless assignments for missions. Her father and Keith were somewhere nearby, though they hadn't the luxury of comm links or hidden cameras. Too risky. No, Jack Bristow was simply going to use his judgment and figure out how to get to them if he found it necessary. And Keith? He was just there to act as a witness.

Sydney hated that they didn't have a more detailed plan, but she wasn't sure what could be done about it.

They had been sitting in the conference room for something like an hour when the door opened. Sydney felt her blood run cold when the familiar man entered.

"Sark," she whispered.

"Hello, Sydney," he said, as calmly as if she were there for a social call. "It's been a long time. If I may say so, you look magnificent. The last decade's been good to you."

"Thank you," she managed, balling her hands into fists. She hated that her daughter's fate, her own fate, was in the hands of this man, of her mother, of Sloane. She was desperate to find a way to turn the tables.

"Mr. Vaughn, always a pleasure," Sark continued. Under the table, Sydney reached for Michael's hand. With Emily gone, she knew that he was already on edge; she silently pleaded with him not to let Sark push him over.

"Sark." Sydney was relieved to hear Michael's voice come out calmly, evenly, though she knew he was speaking through gritted teeth.

"And Jack," Sark finished, smiling at their son. "After the other day, we're practically old friends, now, aren't we?"

"I'm not your friend." Sydney could see the hatred glowing from her son's green eyes, and as much as it made her fearful, she couldn't help but feel proud of her son.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Sark said, not looking as if he really cared one way or the other. "Now. Let's get down to business, shall we? I believe there's someone you've been waiting to see."

Sydney felt her heart jump into her throat as the door to the conference room opened again, revealing not her daughter, but the woman she in fact would have been happy to live the rest of her life without seeing again.

Her mother.


	34. Captives

****

Chapter Thirty-four: Capture

Sydney couldn't take her eyes from her mother. The woman was older now, of course; a decade had passed since Sydney had last seen her. The years had been kinder to her than they had to Sydney's father. Her dark hair showed no signs of gray, though Sydney supposed that was probably thanks to dyes and hairdressers. More than anything, though, it was her posture and the expression on her face that commanded admiration and respect. Irina Derevko was past seventy, and she carried herself like a queen.

Sydney watched as Irina surveyed the room unemotionally, as if she were simply about to start a business meeting, though Sydney caught the flash of tenderness that flashed in her eyes as she regarded Jack, the flash of almost bemused interest as she looked at Michael.

The flash of hatred as she looked at her daughter.

It was that flash that prompted Sydney to speak first, though she knew it might be a mistake. She had never done so well in confrontations with her mother. "Where is my daughter?"

A slight smile flickered across Irina's face. "Be assured that she's safe and being well taken care of, Sydney."

Sydney clenched her hands into fists, willing herself not to lash out at her mother.

She should have taken care to see that Michael did the same, because it was he who leapt from his chair. "Where the hell is she, Irina?"

Sydney watched an almost predatory smile cross Irina's face as she approached Michael. "Michael, darling," she said, her voice soft, honeyed. "You're still looking well. Handsome."

Michael didn't respond, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on her, not blinking under her unwavering gaze.

Irina's hand moved to rest on his shoulder, fingers dancing across the navy of his suit jacket. "Your father," she said, voice dangerously soft. "Never made it to your age."

Sydney didn't wait to see what Michael's reaction would be; she was on her feet, in her mother's face with out a thought in her head. She raised her hand to slap her mother across her face, but her mother caught her hand at the wrist.

"You might learn to control your temper, you stupid girl," she said, flinging Sydney's hand down. "Your daughter's life depends on it."

"Take me to her," Sydney demanded, fixing a glare on her mother.

Irina merely smiled, a cool, menacing smile. "Not just yet, Sydney. I think first you and I need to have a little talk. Alone."

Before Sydney could answer, Irina was fixing her cool smile on Sark. "Sark, dear. Take Michael and my grandson to the place we discussed."

"No!" Sydney lunged for them, but Sark stepped in front of her, his smile as cool and menacing as Irina's.

"You'd do well not to argue, Sydney," he said, in a voice that left no room for argument. "Your family's safety depends on it. As of the moment you walked into this building, you belong to us."

Irina snapped her fingers, and on cue, two burly men appeared from the hallway, one capturing Michael's hands behind his back, the other capturing Jack's. Sydney could only watch in horror as Sark led them away.

"Now, Sydney," Irina said, turning cool eyes on her daughter. "I think you'd do well to sit down."


	35. Confrontation

****

Chapter Thirty-five: Confrontation

__

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird won't sing, Momma's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that--" Sydney stopped short, smiling a bit sheepishly at her husband, who leaned against the doorjamb, smiling.

"Don't stop on my account," he said, striding across the room to kiss her on the top of her head. She smiled up at him adoringly, then down at the precious pink bundle in her arms. "You finally got her to go to sleep, huh?" Michael whispered.

"Mmm." Sydney pressed a feather light kiss to her daughter's forehead, then rose to deposit the sleeping infant into her crib. Michael looped an arm around his wife's waist, and she leaned against him as they stared down at their little girl. "Is she going to be okay, you think?"

"Of course," Michael said, planting a tiny, sweet kiss on her neck. "She's tough. Just like her mommy."

It was almost humorous, really. Things had been so touch and go for Emily at the beginning, all they'd worried about was keeping her alive. When she was a little older, they'd stressed over her frequent asthma attacks, and just in the last few months, Michael had stayed up nights worrying that she was going to get herself, at worst, pregnant, and at best, heartbroken. How funny that they hadn't devoted any real time to worrying that she could be snatched away without warning.

"Well, Michael doesn't seem to have changed a bit," Irina sighed then, settling into a chair once the others had gone. "Physically, maybe. A few lines around the eyes, a few gray hairs, but who among us doesn't have those?"

Sydney sat across from her, reluctantly, trying desperately to control her temper. It was hard, though, when her family had been taken from her and her mother was sitting there as if she had invited Sydney merely to reminisce.

"He's still absolutely gorgeous, though," Irina said, eyeing Sydney carefully. 

"I know," Sydney said through gritted teeth. She didn't need her mother to tell her how her husband looked. She needed her to tell her what she would have to do to get her daughter back.

Irina leaned back in her chair, the picture of nonchalance. "He still seems to have the tendency to let his emotions get the best of him, though," she said, a bit reprovingly. "That was always his weakness, you know."

"I was the one to get angry over what you said about his father," Sydney pointed out.

"True," Irina agreed, cocking her head to one side. "You always had the temper, Sydney, but Michael always wore his heart on his sleeve. So sad, really," she said with a sigh. "He's so obviously still in mourning for the father he lost more than forty years ago."

Sydney clenched and unclenched her fists, willing herself not to go completely apeshit on her mother. "Tell me where my daughter is."

"You have a beautiful home, Sydney," Irina said, as if Sydney hadn't spoken.

"How did you--" Sydney started to ask, then stopped herself. Of course Irina had seen where she lived. She probably knew every detail of Sydney's life for the last ten years.

"And the restaurant," Irina continued. "I understand it's quite popular among the locals, but that it's somewhat of a secret from the tourists. They always feel delighted when they find it, as if they've come upon a hidden treasure."

Sydney was silent, hardly wanting to make small talk with her mother but not knowing what else to say.

"Let me ask you, my darling," Irina said, offering her a serene smile. "Have the last ten years been worth it? Worth ruining everything your mother worked so hard for?"

"I'll tell you when I get my daughter back," Sydney spat.

"Your daughter," Irina said with a sigh. "She really is quite lovely, Sydney. Your spirit and Michael's charm."

Sydney's heart ached at the mention of her daughter. She wasn't just worried about the girl, she truly missed her. She was such a sweetheart, always twirling about the house chattering on about school and boys and friends. A bubbly presence in a happy but otherwise quiet household. "I believe that you haven't harmed her physically, Mother," Sydney said hesitantly. "But is she-- okay? Is she terrified?"

"She's a tough girl," Irina said, leaning over to give her hand a reassuring pat. 

"Yes, she is," Sydney said quietly. "But rather fragile in some ways as well."

"Like her mother," Irina noted.

"Like mine."

The two women locked eyes for a long moment. Finally, after it seemed they would be silent forever, Irina spoke again.

"Well, Sydney. I suppose it's time I told you why you're here."


	36. Decision

****

Chapter Thirty-six: The Decision

"Well, that's lovely," Sydney said, struggling to keep her cool. "You kidnap my daughter, you summon me here. How considerate of you to tell me why I'm here."

"I'd watch your tone, Sydney," Irina responded. "You never did know your place."

Sydney clenched her fists, seething. Willing herself not to say anything she'd regret.

"You left the Organization something like a decade ago, Sydney," Irina told her. "I think that's a long enough break, don't you?"

Sydney's eyes popped. "Break?"

"Yes," Irina said, nodding as if this all made perfect sense. "Of course, the Organization isn't really the Organization anymore, it's merely an offshoot of SD-6 and the Alliance. But I'm sure you can help me change that."

"Surely you don't expect me to work for you," Sydney said in disbelief. Actually, she was surprised her mother would even trust her to work for her.

"Well, it's only fair," Irina said with a shrug. "You'll help rebuild what you destroyed. I gave you a break, Sydney." She kept saying _break_, as if Sydney had merely been on an extended vacation the past ten years. "But now your children are old enough to be of use to me--"

"My children will _never_ work for you," Sydney spat. She couldn't help herself.

"Oh, I think they will." Sydney absolutely hated Irina's tone-- as if she were merely relaying information, as if Sydney had no choice in the matter. "And you will, too." Irina's eyes glinted mirthlessly. "And since the little upset you performed on my Organization forced me to team up with an old adversary of yours, you do realize that you'll also be working for Arvin Sloane."

"No," Sydney whispered, but her words lacked conviction. Sure, she'd beaten her mother once, but it had taken her nearly a decade. And who was to say who'd really won that game, anyway?

"Your daughter is brilliant," Irina said, as if Sydney hadn't spoken. "But I'm afraid she'll need a little convincing to do my bidding. I thought of imprisoning you, but that would only make your children hostile towards me. You will work for me," she said, nodding as if the decision had been made. "And you will convince your children to do the same. Convince them that you made a horrible, horrible decision when you left the Organization." Irina smiled a wintry smile. "Which, of course, you did."

"No," Sydney whispered, but this time, her voice was barely audible.

"Yes," Irina responded. She pressed a button on the table, a button Sydney hadn't noticed before, and in an instant, Sark was before them.

"Sark," Irina said, leaning back in her chair with a content smile. "Take Sydney away, please. And bring me Michael." 


	37. He Would

****

Chapter Thirty-seven: He Would

"Michael Vaughn," Irina said, smiling through red painted lips. "How I've missed you."

Michael clenched the arms of his chair, gritting his teeth. "You'll forgive me if I can't say the same about you."  


"No, of course not," Irina cooed. "You've had a business to run and children to raise, when would you have had time to miss me?"

Michael forced himself not to speak, gripping the arms of his chair harder.

"Of course, _Michael_," She lowered her voice on the two syllables of his name, almost seductively, he thought. "You'll forgive me if I didn't find it quite as easy to get along without you and my daughter, having an Organization to put back together and all."

"And after a decade, you still haven't succeeded," Michael said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "You're working for fucking Arvin Sloane."

Irina merely smirked in response. "With, not for," she corrected. "A subtle distinction, but an important one, I'm sure you'll agree."

"Look, I'd like you to tell me why I'm here." Irina smirked once more in response to his outburst. "And how Sydney and I can get our daughter back."

Irina laughed. 

"What's so funny?" Michael demanded.

Irina's laughter stopped abruptly. "That you think you're getting your daughter back."

Michael's eyes flashed. "If I'm not, then why am I here?"

Irina leaned back in her chair, a serene smile playing about her lips. "To come back to work, of course."

Now it was Michael's turn to laugh. "You must be joking."

"I rarely joke, Mr. Vaughn," Irina responded. "You'll work for me, and you'll convince your children to do the same."

"The hell I will," Michael returned.

"Well, that surprises me, Mr. Vaughn." Irina leaned forward, resting her elbows on the coffee table. "I would think you'd be more concerned with your children's safety than that."

"You would never hurt Emily," Michael said in what he hoped was a confident tone. "You need her to fulfill your precious prophecy."

"Well, of course that's true," Irina said with a sigh. She smiled at Michael. "Jack's more expendable to me."

Michael felt his heart leap into his throat. No. She wouldn't dare…would she?

"You never thought it would come to this, did you?" Irina taunted. "You were willing to face me again after a decade for the sake of your little angel, but you never dreamed you'd have to go to even further lengths to save your problem child, did you?"

"That is not fair," Michael said, green eyes flashing.

"Perhaps not," Irina agreed. "In fact, I'm hoping not. I'm hoping you'll do whatever it takes to keep your son safe, including sell your soul to the devil herself."

And Michael lowered his eyes. Because he knew that he would.


	38. Following Sark

****

Chapter Thirty-eight: Following Sark

Michael followed Sark back to the same room he'd been kept in prior to his meeting with Irina; when he opened the door he was astounded to see Sydney there. She seemed equally surprised to see him.

"Michael," she breathed, moving forward to throw her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're--"

She stopped short, and a glance over his shoulder told Michael that Sark was still behind him.

"Irina has instructed me to transport you to the location where your daughter's being held," he said, his voice coolly calm.

Michael's heart leapt at the thought of seeing his daughter, then sank when he realized they were leaving the Credit Dauphine building. He could only hope that Jack Bristow would be able to follow them, and do so without drawing attention to himself. A glance at Sydney showed him the same worry reflected in her eyes.

"And we'll be able to see Emily?" she asked.

"Briefly," Sark said. "Then we'll let the two of you have some time alone. I believe we've given you a lot to talk about."

"My mother has," Sydney spat. "Doesn't it depress you, Sark? Still playing lapdog to my mother after all these years?"

If the words stung, Michael couldn't tell by looking at Sark. "Working for Irina has certain advantages," he responded.

"But surely you know things will change when Michael and I are working for her again," Sydney taunted. Michael hated that she said _when_, not _if_, as if their return to the Organization was inevitable. "Whatever your duties are now, I'm sure they're far greater than any I would assign you."

This time Sark's eyes glinted angrily, though only for an instant. "Surely you know that your mother is the one really calling the shots around here. I believe my loyalty to her over the past decade will count for a great deal."

"We'll see," Sydney said petulantly.

"I believe we've chatted enough for now, Sydney darling," Sark said, regarding Michael's wife with a challenge in his eyes. "If the two of you will follow me."

"What, no handcuffs?" Sydney taunted.

"I believe the two of you know how important it is to follow instructions," Sark replied.

"Wait a minute," Michael said. "Where is our son?"

"He's already been transported," Sark told him. "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn. I'd suggest you follow me."


	39. Truly Expendable

****

Chapter Thirty-nine: Truly Expendable

Sydney and Michael were blindfolded, then driven to what revealed itself to be a rather seedy hotel that the two of them didn't recognize. It had been so long since they'd been to LA; Sydney thinks that there are many establishments that they wouldn't recognize.

"I believe you wanted to see your daughter," Sark said casually, almost as an afterthought. "Oh. And I'm sure the two of you know better than to cause as scene as we walk through the building."

"Where are we?" Sydney asked, not sure if he would provide her with an answer.

Sark surprised her. "As you remember, your mother once lived at Organization headquarters, as did a few other high-level employees. The two of you, until Irina bought you a place of your own." A look of hatred passed over his handsome face. "She spoiled the two of you, and you didn't even appreciate it."

"That doesn't answer my question," Sydney said, willing herself not to lose her temper.

Sark shrugged. "Well, the Credit Dauphine building isn't the sort of place anyone would want to live, of course, and we spend most of our time at a home in a much lovelier location, anyway. But Mr. Sloane bought Irina and I perfectly lovely apartments of our own, and this building, for entertaining…guests."

__

And when you say "guests," you mean "prisoners," Sydney thought, but she said nothing, merely allowed herself to be led to a rickety elevator.

The elevator stopped on the third floor-- the building had four-- and Sark led them down to a hallway, stopping to knock on a door.

"Emily, dear," he called. "Can I come in?"

It was then that Michael, who had been following along expressionlessly, lost it, hurling himself forward to bang on the door. "Emily!" he called. "Emily, princess, it's Mom and Daddy, let us--"

"Please," Sark cut in, even as screams of "_Daddy! Mom!_" rang out from the other side of the door. "The door can only be opened from the outside." He unlocked the door, and Sydney and Michael all but knocked him over on their way through.

Sydney would never be able to exactly recall what was said in the next few minutes; all she knew was that the three of them stood, weeping and talking a mile a minute, their words muffled by their tight three-way hug.

"Are you okay, Emmy? Are you okay?" Sydney asked over and over.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Emily responded. "But I want to go home. Can we go home?"

It was then that Sydney pulled away, brushing her daughter's hair back from her forehead. "Not yet, sweetie. Now let me look at you."

The girl was dressed in jeans and a lavender tank top that Sydney didn't recognize; they must have been new. Her hair had been washed and curled and she was even wearing a bit of makeup; only someone who knew her well would know that she didn't look quite right. Her vibrant brown eyes looked so stricken, so scared, and she was even thinner than she had been before she left the island.

"What the hell have you done to her, Sark?" Sydney demanded. "Have you even been feeding her?"

"He has, Mommy," Emily was quick to cut in. "I haven't felt much like eating."

Sydney hated the fear in her daughter's eyes, as if she were terrified to say anything negative about Sark. This was not the Emily Sydney knew. She knew she shouldn't have expected her little girl to be her normal, bubbly self, but this was absolutely enough to break her heart.

It must have broken Michael's, too, because he lost his temper for the second time, grabbing Sark by the shirt collar. "What the hell have you done to her, you bastard, she's acting like a damned--"

"I would suggest you get your hands off of me, Mr. Vaughn, or I promise that you will regret it," Sark hissed.

__

Of course, Sydney realized. Sark and her mother wanted them to convince Emily to work for the Organization, that it was the best thing to do; this was hardly helping to convince her that they were all one big happy family.

Michael let go of Sark's shirt, but he did so roughly, almost pushing the other man away, and Sydney hid a smile. Of course Michael wouldn't allow himself to appear weak in front of his wife and little girl.

"I think your time with your daughter is up, and that we had better discuss a few things before you see her again," Sark said.

"No, Mommy, don't leave me, please don't--" Emily started towards her mother, her arms out as if to embrace her.

"Emily," Sark said sharply, and Emily stopped, lowering her head subserviently.

Sydney's mouth dropped open. _What the hell had he done to her?_

"Now say something to reassure her," Sark murmured to Sydney. "And leave with me."

Sydney's lower lip quivered, but she knew that they had to leave her daughter if she were to even hope to get to the bottom of this. "Emily, darling, we have to go now."

"When will I see you again?" Emily asked mournfully.

__

When Sark says so, Sydney thought despairingly. No escape, never an escape…

"Soon, sweetheart," Michael spoke up, with more confidence than Sydney was able to muster.

"Now tell her to be good and do as I say while you're away," Sark hissed in Sydney's ear. "And remember how expendable your son is to us."

Sydney shivered, and tried to force the words from her throat. "B-- be good, Emily," Sydney stammered. She couldn't tell her to listen to Sark. She wouldn't. "I love you very much, okay?" 

She could at least tell her that much. She couldn't tell her to trust her, or that she would make everything okay, or that she and Michael would take her home soon. She didn't know if she would be able to make everything would be okay, she didn't know if they were ever going home, and she sure as hell didn't know if Emily could trust her.

There was no telling what things she would have to do, what things she would have to tell Emily to do, in order to save Jack's life.

Because she knew that Jack Vaughn was the one member of their little family that Sark and her mother considered truly expendable.


	40. Another Way Out

****

Chapter Forty: Another Way Out

"What the hell have you done to her?" Michael demanded as soon as they were out the door. "She's acting like a fucking zombie. If you did anything to her head, brainwashed her--"

"She's not brainwashed, she's simply afraid, as you should be," Sark cut in. "Getting kidnapped tends to make a young lady a little uncertain about her fate."

"And she knows that you're pulling the strings," Sydney murmured. Michael looked at her sharply. She sounded so defeated, the way she'd sounded during so much of their time at the Organization. He hated when she got like that. "What, Michael?" she asked with a sigh, noting his look. "He is, or Mother is, at least. I'm sure they haven't told Emily why she's here, or even where she is, and now the two of us show up and tell her we're not taking her home right away? She's probably terrified of what will happen if she doesn't obey Sark and Mother perfectly."

"You're a smart woman, Sydney," Sark responded. "And I was foolish to allow the two of you to see her before we'd discussed a strategy. Irina will be here soon; we must determine how to orchestrate your return to the Organization, and Emily and Jack's induction into it."

"Oh," Sydney said, some of the old fire returning to her voice. "So you intend to use Jack as more than a bargaining chip, as leverage?"

"But of course, Sydney dear," Sark responded. "You're forgetting that your precious Jack completed almost three years of his elementary education at the Organization school, which means that he's already far ahead of the average adult as far as training goes."

Michael looked away. He would never forgive himself for what they'd subjected their son to as a child. He'd seen what the children at the Organization school were taught, and it was certainly more than reading, writing, and arithmetic. Emily had been spared the same fate only because she'd been so young when they'd left.

"That said, the young Mr. Vaughn does make quite the excellent bargaining chip," Sark continued, a small smile playing about his lips. Michael would have loved nothing more than to punch it right off of his face. "He'll make a wonderful weapon, but he's certainly not irreplaceable. Not like your Emily."

Sydney nodded, the defeated look returning to her face. "Just promise me you won't--" her voice cracked, and she looked down at her feet for a brief moment. "Just promise me you won't give her the type of assignments you used to give Banning."

Michael's eyes widened. The thought that they would take his daughter and turn her into a-- oh, God, he could have thrown up.

"Of course Emily will be spared that type of assignment, as were you," Sark said.

Sydney responded with a nod. "And you will let us see our son before we make any kind of negotiations," she said. "If he's going to be used as a bargaining chip, then we need to know that he's alive and well."

"As you wish," Sark said with a nod. "I must say, Sydney, that I'm impressed. I expected you to put up more than a fight."

__

So did I, Michael thought helplessly. He had to get his wife alone, find out what was going on in her head. He knew that she was terrified for their lives, for Jack's, but for her to just accept their fate…

"Then you underestimated how much I care about my son," Sydney responded.

Michael frowned. Maybe he had, too. Hadn't she sold her soul to Irina once before to be with him? Why would he expect she'd do any less to save their children? Wouldn't he do the same?

__

Of course you will, a little voice inside his head whispered.

He just couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't another way out.


	41. An Open Mind

****

Chapter Forty-one: An Open Mind

"Now," said Sark, looking from Sydney to Michael and back again. "I believe I can grant you a few minutes with your son now, if the two of you promise to behave." He shot a pointed look at Michael, who clenched his hands into fists.

Sydney looped an arm through her husband's, offering him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. He frowned slightly in response. She wished they could have a chance to talk alone; she felt like she needed to discuss strategy with _him_ before they went any further.

Sark led the two of them down the hall to a door not unlike Emily's, stopping to rap on it. "Jack? Your parents would like to see you."

"Fine," came Jack's terse reply from the other side of the door. Sydney supposed it was better than Emily's cries of _"Mom! Daddy!," _but then, Jack had only been apart from them for a little more than an hour.

"Hey," Jack said once Sark, Sydney, and Vaughn had entered the room, rising from the double bed that rested in the middle of the room. "Have you seen Emily?"

"Yes, sweetie. She's…fine," Sydney said, shooting a sideways glance at Sark. He nodded encouragingly.

"You sound weird," Jack said bluntly. "And why are you looking at him? Who the hell are you, anyway?" Jack demanded of Sark. "Besides my grandmother's little lackey?"

"Listen--" Sark began, but Sydney cut him off.

"Could we speak to our son alone, Sark?"

"I hardly think that's--"

"Please," Sydney cut in. "There's a few things we need to explain to him that we'd really like to be alone for."

Sark stared at her for a long moment, considering.

"We understand…how things work around here," Sydney said. _That you, Mother, and Sloane run the show…that the three of us are your slaves…_ "We won't tell him anything inappropriate, I assure you."

Sark nodded slightly. "I'll be back for you shortly, Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn."

"What the hell, Mom?" Jack demanded as soon as the door had closed behind Sark. "You have to ask his permission to speak to me alone? He's nothing but a--"

"He has us in a rather difficult position, Jack," Sydney said, perching gingerly on the edge of his bed. She looked up at Michael, who stood close to the doorway, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dress pants. "You act as if you disapprove of the way I've been behaving, Michael."

"I'm sorry, but it's hard to see you acting as if you just accept all of this," Michael said, voice tight with anger. "You're acting like Irina's simpering little servant, just like you did when we were at the Organization."

"I just don't see a lot of other options for us, Mike," Sydney said, bristling at the _simpering little servant_ comment but deciding to let it go. "We need to play along with them, at least for now."

Michael sighed, running a hand back through his light brown hair. "I just know how you get, Syd," he said, beginning to pace the room. "You'll do the right thing when it comes down to it, but you got awfully damned comfortable at the Organization the first time around, and I'd hate to lose another decade of our lives to Irina and Sark."

"Are you saying it's _my _fault we lost a decade to them before?" Sydney demanded, horrified, at the exact same instant Jack asked, "What the hell is going on?"

Michael bit his lower lip, looking as if he were fighting mightily to control his temper. "It's not your fault that we lost a decade to them, no, Syd. It was an impossible situation. But when placed in an impossible situation, you do tend to forget who you're working for."

"You son of a bitch." If Michael would have been close enough, she would have slapped him. "Did I _forget_ who I was working for when I was working to take down SD-6?"

Michael didn't answer, and Sydney stood and crossed the room, grabbing him by the shoulders. "You listen to me, Michael, maybe I'm a little bit better at compartmentalizing my emotions than you are, maybe I'm pretty damned good at acting like I'm on the bad guys' side, but I have _never_ forgotten who I really am, and I hate that you don't know that."

"You guys," Jack broke in, a stricken expression painted across his handsome face. Sydney realized that he had probably never heard the two of them argue over anything more serious than whether or not he or Emily should be punished for this infraction or that, whether or not to redecorate the restaurant. "Listen, Sark's coming back soon, maybe we had better come up with a plan."

Sydney shook her head. "Michael, I need you on my side here," she said, turning her attention back to her husband. "And if you blame me for something, if you-- God, if you doubt my _loyalty_--" she hated that such a thing was even a possibility. "--then we had better get it out on the table now."

Michael was silent for a long moment. "I don't doubt your loyalty, Sydney," he said, his voice low. "I know how you feel about your mother and Sark, and that the only reason you'd even pretend to cooperate with them is to protect me and the children. But I hate that we're in this situation, and I hate how defeated and compliant you behave when you're around your mother. I know it's just an act--" he tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him. "--but I also know that it gets to you. It was unfair for me to say that you forget who you're working for, but you do let yourself lose hope, believe that there's no way out. I'm seeing that from you already, and I hate it."

"Oh, Michael," Sydney said, feeling her eyes flood with tears. "You're always so optimistic, you always believe that everything's going to work out for the best."

"And you hate that," Michael said softly, looking away.

"_No_," Sydney said firmly, touching his cheek and guiding his face back to look at her. "I think it's a bit naïve sometimes, but I hope you never lose that optimism. It's the only thing that keeps me from-- from _wallowing_ in my own self-pity, from turning into some kind of a monster."

"You could never be a monster, Sydney," he said, pulling her close to him and wrapping his arms around her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to spend a moment lost in his embrace, feeling as safe and protected as she always did in his arms.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he said, kissing her forehead. "So much."

He released her from his embrace, and she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Now, Jack," he said, taking his wife's hand in his. "There are some things we need to tell you so that you'll be prepared, okay? Do you think we have enough time?" he asked Sydney.

"I think we can put Sark off for a few minutes if he comes back," Sydney said with a sigh. She wished more than anything that they had ignored her mother's command to bring Jack with them, that they would have faced whatever consequences of not doing so alone. But then, hindsight was always twenty-twenty, and they couldn't have been sure what they would have done to Emily if they had ignored an instruction. They wouldn't have physically harmed her, but God knew there were millions of worse things the could have done to her.

Michael led Sydney over to the bed, and the two of them sat side by side, holding hands. "Now, Jack," Michael said. "You're not going to like what we have to tell you. But I'm going to ask that you keep an open mind."


	42. Been There

****

Chapter Forty-Two: Been There

"An open mind," Jack repeated. He knew that he had to trust his parents now-- his only other choices were finding a way out of this himself or trusting his grandmother and that overgrown worm Sark, neither which were very appealing. But he just didn't know. Only a couple of weeks ago he'd been a normal college student with restaurant owner parents. Now he was a hostage. The fact that his life could turn on a dime so quickly didn't make him feel too confident trusting anyone.

His parents exchanged a look. Though his father had been the one to ask him to keep an open mind, his mother was the one who began speaking, and Jack thought, for the millionth time, that the two of them must share the same mind. Even when they disagreed, as they just had, it was because each wanted the other to be their best. This, Jack knew, was love. In that moment, he knew that any high school romance he'd had with Delia or anyone else hadn't even come close.

"Jack," Sydney said, squeezing her husband's hand as if for strength. "What do you remember about your schooling at the Organization?"

Jack shrugged. He'd been so young. They'd moved to the island when he was eight years old, still in the third grade. "I didn't like it much," he said, but then, he'd never really liked school at the island, either. He'd always picked things up so quickly, so easily, his teachers' lessons had always seemed boring to him.

"I know you didn't, but that's not what I meant," Sydney said, the look on her face one of intense concentration. "Think hard, Jack. What do you remember about your lessons?"

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, frustrated. "I was a little kid. I learned how to read, and count, and--"

The realization of why his parents were asking such a question nearly knocked the wind out of him.

"It was an Organization school," he whispered, his stomach tying itself in knots. "They were doing something to me there, weren't they? Brainwashing me."

"I don't know if--"

"And you let them." He sat down in the room's only chair with a thud. "I'm your own son, and you let them--"

"Stop it, Jack."

The sharpness in his mother's voice took him by surprise.

"From a very young age, you were taught the ways of the Organization," Sydney said. "Loyalty to the Organization. I'm telling you this because things like that just don't go away, and you need to make yourself fight it. Even if you find yourself drawn to your grandmother, if you find yourself wanting to do what she says--"

"Give me a break," Jack cut in, disgusted. "Like I'd ever--"

"You were taught other things, Jack."

This time it was his father who interrupted him, and pain shone in his green eyes as he did. "You know how to do things you probably don't remember learning."

A shiver ran down Jack's spine. "What things?"

"Let's just say that you know how to defend yourself, Jack," Sydney said. Jack hated the look in her eyes. Steely, compassionless…Maybe Jack's father was confident that she was working for the right side, but at that moment, Jack wasn't even sure who the hell she was. "The least bit of training will bring those skills to the surface."

"And let me guess," Jack said dryly. "If I try to kill Sark or Grandmother, I'll find myself physically unable to do it, I'm programmed only to harm the enemy."

"That's nonsense," Sydney scoffed, but the way her eyes flash made Jack think she wondered if it was true. "In any case," she nodded. "I think it's important that you know what you're capable of."

"You're unbelievable," Jack said, voice full of quiet certainty. "You kept this from me my whole life, and know you're telling me because--"

"Because it's important for you to know," Sydney cut him off. She sighed, dropping Michael's hand, then rose from the bed and began to pace. "Jack, I made a million mistakes with you, and I could apologize for those mistakes until I'm blue in the face. It wouldn't change anything. I was in a horrible situation when you were young, and because of that, you were put in a horrible situation, and I will always be sorry for that. But all we can do now is deal with the consequences of my actions. I don't need your judgment, or your blame. Neither of those things will do us a bit of good."

Jack looked at his father, who was looking up at Sydney in utter amazement. Jack wasn't sure he understood the look, and apparently, his mother wasn't either, because she asked, "What?"

"You're your father," Michael stated. "You were always worried you'd turn out just like your mother, but-- you're your father."

A half smile crept across Sydney's face. "Maybe I am."

"Only in the best ways."

Jack stared at both of them, sure they had both gone completely insane. "Get out."

Sydney and Michael both looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"I need to deal with this, and you guys aren't helping," he said flatly. He was seeing the two of them in entirely new ways, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Matter of fact, he was sure he didn't. "Get out. Get out of here."

His father looked slightly hurt, but a look of understanding crossed his mother's face, as if she'd been in the exact same place before.

Maybe she had.


	43. Lies

****

Chapter Forty-three: Lie

Unfortunately, the door to Jack's room only opened from the outside, so Sydney and Michael were stuck there for about five minutes more. Sark entered to find the three of them sitting in dead silence.

"Well, it looks like this was a lovely little reunion," Sark said dryly. "Sydney and Michael, Irina is here, and she'd like to speak with you."

"What about me?" Jack asked.

Sark frowned at him, a bored expression on his face. "You'll stay here, for the time being."

Jack let out an impatient sigh, crossing his arms in front of him. Sydney hid a smile. The boy hadn't changed since he was three years old.

"We'll see you, Jack," Sydney said, though she knew she didn't dare try to kiss his cheek or make any movement towards him. Realistically, she knew that there was a chance that he would never forgive her and Michael for what they'd done to him. Had she ever really forgiven her father for his shortcomings as a parent? All she could do was do as her father had done-- do her best to keep her child safe and try not to let her offspring's animosity towards her eat her alive.

"See you, Jack," Michael echoed, and Sydney placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Jack's rejection of them was going to hurt him much more than it hurt her, she knew that much. He had idolized his father and adored his mother. She didn't think he'd be able to understand having a child turn on him, let alone accept it.

"What did you tell him?" Sark demanded in his clipped British accent once they had left the room.

"We told him about the training he received at the Organization as a child," Sydney responded.

"Lovely, Sydney," Sark said scathingly. "What are you trying to do, make him antagonistic toward you?"

"Does it matter if he is?" Sydney snapped. "The way I understand it, he has to do what you ask or be killed. He doesn't have to like us, he just has to value his life. Just as I may do what you and Mother say but I will never, ever have an ounce of respect or affection for either of you."

Sark shook his head, making a tsking noise with his tongue. "Sydney, Sydney," he said. "You know, I bet in another lifetime, under other circumstances, things would have been very, very different between us."

He didn't leave Sydney time to ponder that statement, merely opened the door to a conference room, where Irina sat like a queen waiting to receive them.

"Sydney, Michael," she said with a flicker of a smile. "I trust that you've seen your children, and that you've seen that the two of them are in satisfactory health."

"Emily's condition worries me," Sydney responded, moving to sit at the seat at her mother's left. Michael sat at her side, Sark across from her. "It seems she's been frightened into submission, and I don't like seeing her like that."

"Ah," Irina said with a nod. "Well then, Sydney, you'll merely have to convince her that there's nothing to be afraid of, won't you?"

Sydney nodded. 

"Since Sark has told me you've accepted that you have no choice but to do what we say, I suppose it's time for us to begin talking about how, precisely, you'll explain your decision to work for us to your children."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sydney watched Michael close her eyes, and then open them. She placed a comforting hand over his, and he offered her a wan half-smile. "Jack will be difficult," Sydney said. "He's suspicious by nature and he doesn't particularly trust Michael and me."

"Ah," Irina said, nodding again. "I think I'll be the best one to speak to him, then."

"Fine," Sydney responded, struggling to keep her voice cool.

"Emily, now, she's a different story," Irina mused, sitting back in her chair. "She'll definitely need Mommy and Daddy's blessing to go along with us. What will you tell her?"

Sydney looked at her mother, hoping her eyes betrayed nothing but steely determination. "That we made a mistake leaving the Organization and that we're returning," she said. "I'm confident that convincing her to go along with us won't be a problem."

"Good," Irina said with a nod, rising from her chair. "I'll be going to speak with Jack, then, while Sark will be accompanying you while you speak with Emily."

"We'd rather speak with her alone," Sydney responded.

Irina offered her a wintry smile. "I'm sorry, Sydney dear. But we don't have surveillance equipment in the rooms here and I'm afraid we don't trust you quite that much yet."

Sydney nodded and stood, preparing herself to lie to her daughter as she'd never lied to her before.


	44. Meeting With Emily

****

Chapter Forty-four: Meeting with Emily

"Mom! Daddy!" Emily exclaimed, visibly relieved as she sprang up from the bed. "I'm so glad you're back."

Sydney caught her daughter in a tight hug, then watched as Michael did the same. "Emily, sweetheart," Sydney said. "Why don't you sit down? Daddy and I need to talk to you."

"Okay." Sydney noticed how just having the two of them there seemed to calm Emily down, as if she was confident that her parents wouldn't steer her wrong. Sydney's stomach lurched, realizing that steer her wrong was exactly what she had to do.

"So when are we going home?" Emily asked eagerly.

Sydney and Michael shared a glance. "We're not, sweetheart. At least, not right away."

"What?" A look of confusion crossed Emily's pretty face. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, sweetheart, not at all," Sydney said, casting a quick glimpse at Sark. "It's just that we've decided--" she reached for Michael's hand without looking for it, needing his strength but not needing the judgment in his eyes. "We've decided to stay here and work for your grandma for awhile."

"But I thought--" Emily frowned as if trying to make sense of it all. "Grandma told me about the Organization. They're-- they're criminals, aren't they?"

__

And how, Sydney thought cryptically. Instead, she said, "Criminal is a rather strong word, Emily. Let's just say that they have some of the same goals that we do." _Actually, their goals are very different from ours. They want us to work for them, and we want to keep Jack alive. Who would have thought that the two goals go hand in hand?_

"Goals-- Mom, I don't understand." Sydney hated the look on Emily's face-- lost, confused…And she'd put it there, that was the worst part. "You and Dad run a restaurant, you love running the restaurant."

"That's not what we've always done, Emily," Sydney responded. "We used to work for your grandma, and now we're going to again." Then, the part that killed her-- "You're going to."

Emily frowned, then looked at her father as if for confirmation. "Dad?"

Michael rose from his perch on the bed, running a hand back through his hair. "Listen to your mother, sweetie."

Emily watched her father pace the room for a moment, her face a mask of disbelief, then turned back to her mother. "I'm going to work-- what about school?"

Sydney turned to Sark. They hadn't discussed this part. She suspected that no Organization school existed anymore.

"We've selected a fine school for Emily, and we're considering whether or not to let Jack remain at UCLA."

"Jack?" Emily asked, eyes lighting up. "Jack is here?"

"Yes, sweetie," Sydney said.

"Can I see him?"

Sydney and Michael both turned to look at Sark. Unlike Jack, Emily didn't ask why; sadly enough, she seemed to know who was in charge here.

"Soon, Emily. After Irina has spoken with him," Sark said, standing up. "I think we're done here. You'll do as your parents tell you, Emily?"

"Well…yes," Emily said, frowning. "I somehow feel like I don't really have a choice. Like they don't, either."

__

Smart girl, Sydney thought, but she didn't say as much.

"Good," Sark responded. "Now, Sydney and Michael, if you'll come with me. I'll show you to your room, and then I'll check on how Irina is doing with Jack."

As Sydney and Michael said goodbye to their daughter, Sydney felt her stomach drop, and she felt as if she could do nothing but pray for a way out of this.


	45. Meeting With Jack

****

Chapter Forty-five: Meeting With Jack

Irina knocks on Jack's door before entering, though of course the gesture is merely a formality. She'll enter if she pleases. "Jack, darling, it's your grandmother."

There is a long pause before Jack answers. "Come in, Grandma."

Irina turns the key in the lock, then enters the room to find the boy lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "How are you doing, Jack?"

Jack doesn't even bother to turn to her as he deadpans, "Fine. For a hostage."

"You're not a hostage. You're an employee."

Jack sat up, glaring at his grandmother. Such fire in his eyes. He reminds her of a ballsy young Michael storming into her office and calling her a bitch. _You wouldn't do that now, would you, Mike_? She thought, smiling to herself. _You have something to lose besides your pretty face and your precious Sydney._

"When I'm summoned here to rescue my kidnapped sister and forced to do as you say, I'm not an employee. I'm a hostage."

Irina sat next to him on the bed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. "I remember when your parents first came to me," she said softly. "So young. So in love."

Jack looked away, but she could tell she'd piqued his interest.

"I doubted their motives when they first came to me, Jack, but I knew that they'd do my bidding soon enough."

Jack gave her a look of pure hatred. "They were never doing your bidding. They took you down."

"Oh, please, Jack," Irina scoffed. "They only did that because your grandfather put them in an impossible position. Prison or a decade on a beach, what would you choose?"

Jack looked away, but not before Irina saw the doubt in his eyes.

"They never planned to leave," Irina continued. "If they had, do you think they would have allowed their own son to be trained to work for me?"

"They told me all about that," Jack murmured.

"Did they?" Irina challenged. "Did they tell you that you were being groomed to be the next leader of the Organization? First your parents, then you."

Jack still didn't look at her. It was as if he was afraid she'd try to take his soul, should he look in her eyes.

"They're going to work for me again, Jack, and they want you to do the same," Irina told him. "They sent me in here to convince you because they know you don't exactly trust them right now."

Jack bit his lower lip, shaking his head. "I don't know who to trust."

"Trust me, Jack."

It was only then that Jack looked at her, and when he did, Irina could see that he was caving. He wanted to trust someone, and he didn't want it to be his parents. He wanted to trust her.

"Your sister is destined for great things, but you're groomed for them," Irina told him. "You can be a great asset to me, Jack."

Jack shook his head. "I-- I don't know what to think."

Irina stood. "Well, think about it, Jack. You can either be an asset, or you can be a hostage, as you called yourself. It's your choice."

Irina left the room confident that he'd make the right one.


	46. The Decision

****

Chapter Forty-six: The Decision

Jack Bristow walked up the stairs stealthily, gun in hand. He had managed to follow everyone to the hotel where he guessed that Irina was keeping everyone hostage. He didn't want to make any sudden moves, but enough was enough. God only knew what Irina would do, or convince them to do while she had them in custody. He'd told Keith to wait; he wasn't sure if he wanted that boy to be their only hope, but he didn't think he had much of a choice.

He reached the top of the stairs and opened the door slowly, quietly, slipping through--

To come face to face with the butt of a gun.

Sark's face was the last thing he saw before the world went black.

_________________

"Jack, dear," Irina said, making her way back into Jack Vaughn's room. Several hours had passed since their previous meeting; she figured he'd had plenty of time to make a decision. Sark, Sydney, Michael, and Emily followed her; she knew that Jack didn't exactly trust his parents just then, but seeing that his precious little sister was on her side might help him make up his mind.

"Emily!" Jack cried, rushing to give his sister a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Oh, Jack, it's so good to see you," she said, her voice full of relief.

Irina let the reunion go on for a couple of minutes before speaking again. "All right, Jack. I think it's time to give me your decision. Will you work for me, or not? Your beautiful little sister has agreed."

"Emily, no," Jack said, looking absolutely crestfallen.

"Yes," Irina confirmed. "Now the question is, Jack, do you trust your parents to keep her safe? Because you won't be allowed anywhere near her if you don't agree to do as I say."

Jack stared at Emily for a long moment, as if making a decision, then turned to his grandmother. "No. I won't work for you."

Irina's eyes flared. "No?"

"No. Keep me as a hostage, if you want. I won't do what you say."

Irina stared at him for a long moment. "Take Emily away, Sark."

"What?" Emily cried. "Why?"

"Do as they say, Emily," Sydney said, and Irina saw Jack's eyes move sharply to his mother, as if she had betrayed him.

"What are you doing, Mom?" he cried. "What are you letting them do to us?"

Sydney didn't respond, only stared ahead coldly, and Irina smiled. She really was her mother's daughter, much as she had tried to fight it.

"So you won't work for me," Irina said slowly. "Well. I suppose I can't kill you. I don't think anything could convince your parents to work for me then, since they know I can't kill Emily. You really do make a fine little bargaining chip, Jack."

Jack only glared at her.

"Very well, then. I do believe we have one other thing that might change your mind."

She clapped her hands, and Sark appeared again, only this time, Emily wasn't with him. Sydney screamed as he shoved the body of Jack Bristow on the floor. The man was alive, but he was bruised and badly beaten, and as soon as he was on the ground, Sark aimed his gun at him.

"Jack, I assume you recognize your grandfather," Irina said coolly. "I'll tell you what. You work for us, he lives. You don't, he dies."

She offered him a malevolent smile before adding, "You decide."


	47. Answers

****

Chapter Forty-seven: Answers

It all happened so quickly that Jack Vaughn wouldn't be quite sure what had happened until later.

One minute, a gun was being held to his grandfather's head and he was being asked to make a decision. The next minute, the gun was being knocked out of Sark's hand. It took Jack a few seconds to realize that it was his mother who had done it. There was a struggle, Sydney and her mother both fighting for control, and then a shot rang out, and a body dropped to the floor. It was a few minutes before the reality of what had happened sunk in.

Irina Derevko was dead.

________________

A week later, Jack Vaughn and his mother sit on the porch of their house, staring out at the waves. Jack will head back to UCLA that day. His father is bringing his things down for him, and Emily and Keith are in the living room doing God knows what. Jack thinks that Keith got the best end of the deal, going to LA but staying out of the line of fire. He didn't have to see what the rest of them had seen, and Emily thought he was some kind of hero.

The rest of their time in LA had passed in a blur. Sark had traded their freedom for his own life, and they had been back on the island by the end of the day. Sydney's father was beat-up but fine; Jack was planning to check in on him every once in awhile when he went back to LA. 

"I think that's great," Sydney had said, her voice soft. "I never had much of a relationship with him. Maybe you can now."

Now, he turns to his mother. "Mom?" he asks tentatively.

She offers him a weak half-smile. "Yeah?"

"How do you feel now that it's all over?" he asks. "Now that your mother's gone."

Sydney shrugs. "I don't know. Relieved. Kind of sad. Safer than I have in years. How am I supposed to feel?" 

"I don't know."

Sydney smiles sadly. "Jack, for what it's worth, I'm sorry you had to go through all of that."

Jack shrugs. He opens his mouth to speak, but then his father appears in the doorway, Jack's duffel bag slung over his arm. "You didn't have much stuff, Jack."

"Yeah, I know," Jack says. "Listen, I--"

"Hi, Jack."

Jack looks up in surprise to see Delia standing in front of their house. "Delia," he says, surprised. "I was just about to leave for the airport."

"Can I drive you?"

"Uh…sure." He turns to his parents a bit regretfully. "So, I'll see you."

"When do you think you'll be home again?" Sydney asks worriedly.

"I don't know," Jack says. "Spring break's in March, but I don't really know what my plans are."

"Well, call when you get back to LA."

"I will." Jack hugs his dad first, taking the duffel bag from him, then turns to his mother. When he is in her embrace, she whispers, "I'll understand if you can't forgive all we've done." 

He smiles sadly. "It's okay," he says. "You always come through when it counts."

Sydney's eyes are brimming with tears as he turns to leave with Delia.

"So," she says when they are in her car. "I tried to come by yesterday, but no one was home. The restaurant was closed, too."

"Yeah, um--" Jack bites his lower lip. "We went to see my grandma."

"Oh," Delia says. "How is she?"

Jack grimaced. "She died, actually."

"Oh, Jack, I'm sorry," Delia says sympathetically. "I'd never heard you mention a grandmother."

"Yeah, she and my mother weren't close."

"Oh. You just went to see her because she was dying?"

"Something like that."

The two of them drive in silence for a moment before Delia says, "Look, Jack, I know we've both moved on. But you never said goodbye when you left for college, and I just wanted to say goodbye now."

Jack smiles. "Maybe I'll see you next time I'm home."

"Maybe."

Jack feels, as he comes to the end of his stay on the island, that all he has are _maybes_. He doesn't know when he's coming back, when he'll talk to his parents again. But he has more answers than he did when he came home, and though he doesn't like all of those answers, he thinks that he likes them a lot better than having only questions.

****

THE END


End file.
